THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


AFFINITIES 

AND    OTHER    STORIES 
MARY  ROBERTS  RINEHART 


THE  WORKS  OF 

MARY  ROBERTS 
RINEHART 

AFFINITIES 


THE   REVIEW  OF   REVIEWS   COMPANY 

Publishers  NEW  YORK 

PUBLISHED  BY  ARRANGEMENT  WITH  GBORGH  H.  DOP.AN  COMPANY. 


Copyright, 
By  George  H.  Dor  an  Comjxaty 


Copyright,  1909, 1913, 1914, 1915,  by  the  Curtis  Publishing 
Company 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TS 

:< 

CONTENTS 


AFFINITIES. 


n 

THE  FAMILY  FRIEND      .........     55 

m 

CLARA'S  LITTE  ESCAPADE    ..,..,..  103 

IV 

THE  BORROWED  HOUSE  .     .     .     3    *    *    *     •     .  161 

V 

SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER     ..•«»«..  £37 


642538 


AFFINITIES 


AFFINITIES 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


AFFINITIES 


SOMEBODY  ought  to  know  the  truth  about  the 
Devil's  Island  affair  and  I  am  going  to  tell  it. 
The  truth  is  generally  either  better  or  worse  than  the 
stories  that  get  about.  In  this  case  it  is  somewhat 
better,  though  I  am  not  proud  of  it. 

It  started  with  a  discussion  about  married  wom 
en  having  men  friends.  I  said  I  thought  it  was 
a  positive  duty — it  kept  them  up  to  the  mark  with 
their  clothes  and  gave  a  sort  of  snap  to  things,  with 
out  doing  any  harm.  There  were  six  of  us  on  the 
terrace  at  the  Country  Club  at  the  time  and  we  all 
felt  the  same  way — that  it  was  fun  to  have  some 
body  that  everybody  expected  to  put  by  one  at 
dinners,  and  to  sit  out  dances  with  and  like  the 
way  one  did  one's  hair,  and  to  say  nice  things. 

"And  to  slip  out  on  the  links  for  a  moonlight 
chat  with  you,"  said  Annette,  who  is  rather  given 

9 


10 AFFINITIES 

to  those  little  pastimes,  the  most  harmless  in  the 
world. 

We  were  all  awfully  bored  that  Sunday  after 
noon.  Most  of  the  men  were  golfing;  and  when 
you  meet  the  same  people  all  the  time — day  after 
day,  dinner  after  dinner,  dance  after  dance — any 
thing  new  is  welcome.  Really  the  only  variety  we 
had  was  a  new  drink  now  and  then.  Some  one 
would  come  home  from  his  vacation  with  a  brand- 
new  idea  in  beverages  and  order  one  all  round,  and 
it  was  a  real  sensation. 

That  was  all  we  had  had  all  summer  for  excite 
ment,  except  the  time  Willie  Anderson  kissed  Sy- 
billa — she  was  his  wife — on  a  wager.  They  had 
been  rather  cool  to  each  other  for  a  month  or  so. 

We  would  sit  on  the  terrace  and  the  conversation 
would  be  about  like  this: 

"There's  the  Jacksons'  car." 

"Why  on  earth  does  Ida  Jackson  wear  green?" 

"Hello,  Ida!    When  d'you  get  back?" 

"Yesterday.     Bully  time!" 

Just  in  time  to  save  us  from  utter  boredom  some 
body  would  yawn  and  remark  : 

"Here  comes  the  Henderson  car." 

"Jane  Henderson's  put  on  weight.  She's  as  big 
as  a  house!  Hello,  Jane!" 

"Hello,  everybody!  My  goodness!  Why  did 
I  come  back?  Isn't  it  hot?" 


AFFINITIES 11 

More  excitement  for  a  minute  and  then  more 
yawns.  It  was  Ferd  Jackson  who  suggested  the  af 
finity  party.  He  had  heard  about  what  I  had  said 
on  the  terrace,  and  he  came  to  me  while  Day  was 
playing  on  the  links.  Day  is  my  husband. 

"Had  a  nice  afternoon?"  he  asked.  , 

"Only  fair.  Day's  been  underfoot  most  of  the 
time.  Why?' 

"How'd  you  like  a  picnic?" 

"I  would  not!"  I  said  decisively.  "I  hate  cold 
food  and  motoring  in  a  procession  until  you  choke 
with  dust — and  Day  getting  jealous  and  disagree 
able  and  wanting  to  get  home  early." 

"Poor  little  girl!"  said  Ferd,  and  patted  my 
hand  in  a  friendly  way. 

Ferd  was  a  good  scout  always;  we  got  along 
together  pretty  well  and  sat  together  at  dinners 
whenever  we  could.  He  never  made  love  to  me 
or  anything  like  that,  but  he  understood  me  thor 
oughly,  which  Day  never  took  the  trouble  to  do. 
It  is  absurd,  now  that  it's  all  over,  to  have  the  others 
saying  he  was  my  affinity  or  anything  of  the  sort. 
I  never  cared  for  him. 

"I  didn't  mean  the  usual  sort  of  picnic,"  Ferd 
said.  "How  has  it  got  its  pretty  hair  fixed  to-day? 
Rather  nice,  lady-love;  but  why  do  you  hide  your 
pretty  ears?" 

Lady-love  was  only  a  nickname. 


12 AFFINITIES 

"So  I  won't  be  able  to  hear  Day  bragging  about 
his  golf  score.  What  sort  of  a  picnic?" 

"It's  a  peach  of  an  idea!"  Ferd  said.  "It  came 
to  me  out  of  a  clear  sky.  Every  picnic  we've  ever 
had  has  been  a  failure — because  why  ?  Because  they 
were  husband-and-wife  picnics.  There's  no  trouble 
about  a  picnic  where  nobody's  married,  is  there*?" 

"Humph!  What's  the  peach  of  an  idea?  To 
get  divorces'?" 

"Certainly  not!  Have  husbands  and  wives — 
only  somebody  else's  husband  or  somebody  else's 
wife.  You  and  I — do  you  see? — and  Annette  and 
Tom;  Jane  Henderson  and  Emerson  Riley;  Cath 
erine  Fredericks  and  that  fellow  who's  visiting  the 
Moores.  How  about  it?" 

"Day  would  have  a  convulsion,  Ferd." 

"Good  gracious,  Fanny !"  he  said.  "Haven't  you 
any  imagination?  What  has  Day  got  to  do  with 
it?  You  wouldn't  tell  him,  of  course!" 

Well,  that  was  different.  I  was  rather  scared 
when  I  got  to  thinking  of  it,  but  it  sounded  amusing 
and  different.  One  way  and  another  I  see  such  a 
lot  of  Day.  He's  always  around  unless  there's  a 
golf  tournament  somewhere  else. 

"It's  moonlight,"  Ferd  said.  "The  only  thing, 
of  course,  is  to  get  off.  I  can  stay  over  at  the  club 
or  go  on  a  motor  trip.  It's  easy  enough  for  the 


AFFINITIES 13 

fellows;  but  the  girls  will  have  to  work  out  some 
thing." 

So  we  sat  and  thought.  Day  came  in  from  the 
links  just  then  and  stopped  by  my  chair. 

"Great  afternoon!"  he  said,  mopping  his  face. 
"Y'ought  to  hear  what  I  did  to  Robson,  Fan — I 
drove  off  my  watch  and  never  touched  it.  Then  he 
tried  it  with  his.  Couldn't  even  find  the  case!" 

"Go  away,  Day,"  I  said.     "I'm  thinking." 

"Ferd  doesn't  seem  to  interfere  with  your  think 
ing." 

"He's  negative  and  doesn't  count,"  I  explained. 
"You're  positive." 

That  put  him  in  a  good  humour  again  and  he 
went  off  for  a  shower.  I  turned  to  Ferd. 

"I  believe  I've  got  it,"  I  said — "I'll  have  a  fight 
with  Day  the  morning  of  the  picnic  and  I'll  not  be 
there  when  he  gets  home.  I've  done  it  before. 
Then,  when  I  do  go  home,  he'll  be  so  glad  to  see 
me  he'll  not  ask  any  questions.  He'll  think  I've 
been  off  sulking." 

"Good  girl !"  said  Ferd. 

"Only  you  must  get  home  by  ten  o'clock — that's 
positive.  By  eleven  he'd  be  telephoning  the  police." 

"Sure  I  will !  We'll  all  have  to  get  home  at  rea 
sonable  hours." 

"And — I'm  a  wretch,  Ferd.  He's  so  fond  of 
me!" 


14 AFFINITIES 

"That's  no  particular  virtue  in  him.  I'm  fond 
of  you — and  that's  mild,  Fan;  but  what's  a  virtue 
in  Day  is  a  weakness  in  me,  I  dare  say." 

"It's  an  indiscretion,"  I  said,  and  got  up. 
Enough  is  a  sufficiency,  as  somebody  said  one  day, 
and  I  did  not  allow  even  Ferd  to  go  too  far. 

Annette  and  Jane  and  Catherine  were  all  crazy 
about  it.  Annette  was  the  luckiest,  because  Charles 
was  going  for  a  fishing  trip,  and  her  time  was  her 
own.  And  Ferd's  idea  turned  out  to  be  perfectly 
bully  when  the  eight  of  us  got  together  that  even 
ing  and  talked  it  over  while  the  husbands  were  shoot 
ing  crap  in  the  grill  room. 

"There's  an  island  up  the  river,"  he  explained, 
"where  the  men  from  our  mill  have  been  camp 
ing;  and,  though  the  tents  are  down,  they  built 
a  wooden  pavilion  at  the  edge  of  the  water  for  a 
dining  hall — and,  of  course,  that's  still  there.  We 
can  leave  town  at,  say,  four  o'clock  and  motor  up 
there — you  and  Tom,  Annette  and " 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over,  Ferd,"  I  put  in,  "and 
I  won't  motor.  If  the  car  goes  into  a  ditch  or 
turns  over  you  always  get  in  the  papers  and  there's 
talk.  Isn't  there  a  street  car*?" 

"There's  a  street  car;  but,  for  heaven's  sake, 
Fanny " 

"Street  car  it  is,"  I  said  with  decision.  "With  a 
street  car  we'll  know  we're  going  to  get  back  to^ 


AFFINITIES 15 

town.  It  won't  be  sitting  on  its  tail  lamp  in  a 
gully;  and  we  won't  be  hiding  the  license  plates  un 
der  a  stone  and  walking  home,  either." 

There  was  a  lot  of  demur  and  at  first  Annette  said 
she  wouldn't  go  that  way;  but  she  came  round  at 
last. 

'Til  *end  a  basket  up  late  in  the  afternoon," 
Ferd  said,  "with  something  to  eat  in  it.  And  you 
girls  had  better  put  on  sensible  things  and  cut  out 
the  high  heels  and  fancy  clothes.  If  you  are  going 
in  a  street  car  you'd  better  be  inconspicuous.'* 

That  was  the  way  we  arranged  it  finally — the 
men  to  take  one  car  and  the  girls  another  and  meet 
opposite  the  island  on  the  river  bank.  We  should 
have  to  row  across  and  Ferd  was  to  arrange  about 
boats.  We  set  Thursday  as  the  day. 

Some  sort  of  premonition  made  me  nervous— 
and  I  was  sorry  about  Day  too;  for  though  the  pic 
nic  was  only  a  lark  and  no  harm  at  all,  of  course 
he  would  have  been  furious  had  he  known.  And 
he  was  very  nice  to  me  all  the  week.  He  sent  flow 
ers  home  twice  and  on  Wednesday  he  said  I  might 
have  a  new  runabout.  That  made  it  rather  difficult 
to  quarrel  with  him  Thursday,  as  I  had  arranged. 

I  lay  awake  half  the  night  trying  to  think  of 
something  to  quarrel  about.  I  could  not  find  any 
thing  that  really  answered  until  nearly  dawn,  when 
I  decided  to  give  him  some  bills  I  had  been  holding 


16  AFFINITIES 

back.  I  fell  asleep  like  a  child  then  and  did  not 
waken  until  eleven  o'clock.  There  was  a  box  of 
roses  by  the  bed  and  a  note  in  Day's  writing. 

"Honey  lamb !"  he  wrote :  "Inclosed  is  a  telegram 
from  Waite  calling  me  to  Newburyport'  to  the  tour 
nament.  I'll  hardly  get  back  before  to-morrow 
night.  I  came  to  tell  you,  but  you  looked  so  beau 
tiful  and  so  sound  asleep  I  did  not  have  the  heart 
to  waken  you.  Be  a  good  girl !  DAY." 

Somehow  the  note  startled  me.  Could  he  have 
had  any  suspicion?  I  felt  queer  and  uneasy  all  the 
time  I  was  dressing;  but  after  I  had  had  a  cup  of 
tea  I  felt  better.  There  is  nothing  underhanded 
about  Day.  He  has  no  reserves.  And  if  he  had 
learned  about  the  picnic  he  would  have  been  bleating 
all  over  the  place. 

The  weather  was  splendid — a  late  summer  day, 
not  too  warm,  with  a  September  haze  over  every 
thing.  We  met  at  the  hairdresser's  and  Jane  Hen 
derson  was  frightfully  nervous. 

"Of  course  I'm  game,"  she  said,  while  the  man 
pinned  on  her  net;  "but  my  hands  are  like  ice." 

Catherine,  however,  was  fairly  radiant. 

"There's  a  sort  of  thrill  about  doing  something 
clandestine,"  she  observed,  "that  isn't  like  anything 


AFFINITIES 17 

else  in  the  world.  I  feel  like  eloping  with  Mr.  Lee. 
You'll  all  be  mad  about  him.  He's  the  nicest 
thing!" 

Mr.  Lee  was  the  Moores'  guest. 

I  had  got  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  by  that  time 
and  I  drew  a  long  breath.  Day  was  safely  out  of 
the  way,  the  weather  was  fine,  and  I  had  my  hair 
over  my  ears  the  way  Ferd  liked  it. 

II 

Everything  went  wonderfully — up  to  a  certain 
point.  Have  you  ever  known  it  to  fail*?  Every 
thing  swims  along  and  all  is  lovely — and  the  thing, 
whatever  it  may  be,  is  being  so  successful  that  it 
is  almost  a  culmination;  and  then  suddenly,  out 
of  a  clear  sky,  there  is  a  slip-up  somewhere  and  you 
want  to  crawl  off  into  a  corner  and  die. 

Ferd  had  got  there  early  and  had  a  boat  ready, 
all  scrubbed  out  and  lined  with  old  carpets.  He  was 
just  as  excited  as  any  of  us. 

"The  trouble  with  us,"  he  said,  as  we  rowed  over 
to  the  island,  "is  that  we  are  all  in  a  rut.  We  do 
the  same  things  over  and  over,  at  the  same  places, 
with  the  same  people.  The  hoi  polloz  never  make 
that  mistake  and  they  get  a  lot  more  out  of  life. 
Every  now  and  then  the  puddlers  from  the  mill 
come  over  here  and  have  a  great  time." 


18 AFFINITIES 

There  were  two  islands,  one  just  above  the  other, 
with  about  a  hundred  feet  of  water  between  them. 
The  upper  island  was  much  the  nicer  and  it  was 
there  that  Ferd  had  planned  the  party. 

He  does  things  awfully  well,  really.  He  had  had  a 
decorator  out  there  early  in  the  day  and  the  pavil 
ion  was  fixed  up  with  plants  and  vines  which 
looked  as  if  they  grew  on  it.  He  had  the  table 
fixed  too,  with  a  mound  of  roses  and  the  most  in 
teresting  place  cards.  Mine  had  a  little  jewelled 
dagger  thrust, through  it,  and  the  card  said: 

Thafs  as  much  as  to  say,  they  are  fools  that  marry. 

He  said  the  quotation  was  from  Shakespeare  and 
the  dagger  was  for  Day. 
Annette's  card  said: 

She  was  married,  charming,  chaste,  and 
twenty-three, 

which  delighted  Annette,  she  being  more  than  twen 
ty-three. 

Ferd's  own  card  said: 

Another  woman  now  and  then 
Is  relished  by  the  best  of  men. 

I  have  forgotten  the  others.  The  dagger  was  a 
pin,  and  each  card  had  something  pretty  fastened 
to  it. 


AFFINITIES  19 


We  sat  and  gossiped  while  we  waited  for  the 
others  and  then  we  wandered  round.  The  island 
was  not  very  pretty — flat  and  weedy  mostly,  with 
a  good  many  cans  the  campers  had  left,  and  a 
muddy  shore  where  a  broken  dock,  consisting  of 
two  planks  on  poles,  was  the  boat  landing.  But  it 
was  only  later  that  I  hated  it,  really.  That  after 
noon  we  said  it  was  idyllic,  and  the  very  place  for 
a  picnic. 

The  other  men  arrived  soon  after,  and  it  was 
really  barrels  of  fun.  We  made  a  rule  first.  No 
one  was  to  mention  an  absent  husband  or  wife; 
and  the  person  who  did  had  to  tell  a  story  or  sing 
a  song  as  a  forfeit.  I  was  more  than  proud  of  Ferd. 
He  had  even  had  a  phonograph  sent  up,  with  a  lot 
of  new  music.  We  danced  the  rest  of  the  after 
noon  and  the  Lee  man  danced  like  an  angel.  I 
never  had  a  better  time.  Jane  voiced  my  feelings 
perfectly. 

"It's  not  that  I'm  tired  of  Bill,"  she  said.  "I 
dote  on  him,  of  course;  but  it  is  a  relief,  once  in  a 
while,  not  to  have  a  husband  in  the  offing,  isn't  it"? 
And  the  most  carping  critic  could  not  object  to 
anything  we  are  doing.  That's  the  best  of  all." 

The  dinner  was  really  wonderful — trust  Ferd  for 
that  too.  We  were  almost  hilarious.  Between 
courses  we  got  up  and  changed  our  own  plates,  and 
we  danced  to  the  side  table  and  back  again.  Once 


20 AFFINITIES 

we  had  an  alarm,  however.  An  excursion  boat  came 
up  the  river  and  swung  in  close  tc  the  pavilion. 
We  had  not  noticed  it  until  it  was  quite  near  and 
there  was  no  time  to  run;  so  we  all  sat  down  on  the 
floor  inside  the  railing,  which  was  covered  with 
canvas,  and  had  our  salad  there. 

By  the  time  dinner  was  over  it  was  almost  dark; 
and  we  took  a  bottle  of  champagne  down  to  the 
dock  and  drank  it  there,  sitting  on  the  boards,  with 
our  feet  hanging.  Ferd  had  been  growing  sentimen 
tal  for  the  last  hour  or  two  and  I  had  had  to  keep 
him  down.  He  sat  beside  me  on  the  boards  and  kept 
talking  about  how  he  envied  Day,  and  that  Ida 
was  a  good  wife  and  better  than  he  deserved;  but 
no  one  had  ever  got  into  him  the  way  I  had. 

"I'm  not  trying  to  flatter  you,  Fanny,"  he  said. 
"I've  always  been  honest  with  you.  But  there's  a 
woman  for  every  man,  and  you're  my  woman." 

He  had  come  rather  close  and,  anyhow,  he  was 
getting  on  my  nerves;  so  I  gave  him  just  the  least 
little  bit  of  a  push  and  he  fell  right  back  into  the 
water.  I  was  never  so  astonished  in  my  life. 

The  way  Jane  Henderson  told  it  later  was  crim 
inally  false.  I  did  not  push  him  with  all  my 
strength  and  he  had  not  tried  to  kiss  me.  Nobody 
had  had  too  much  to  drink.  It  was  a  perfectly 
proper  party,  and  my  own  mother  could  not  have 
found  a  single  thing  to  criticise. 


AFFINITIES  21 

Well,  Ferd  was  wet  through  and  not  very  agree 
able.  He  said,  however,  that  he  had  merely  over 
balanced,  and  that  he  would  dry  out  somehow.  The 
only  thing  was  that  he  had  to  get  back  home  and 
he  felt  he  was  not  looking  his  best. 

The  moon  came  up  and  was  perfectly  lovely;  but 
about  the  time  we  had  settled  down  to  singing  soft 
little  songs  and  the  Lee  man  was  saying  what  a 
good  lot  of  sports  we  were,  and  that  he  was  going 
to  take  the  idea  back  home,  a  lot  of  puddlers  and 
their  wives  rowed  out  from  the  shore  and  started 
toward  our  island.  Ferd  was  awfully  annoyed.  He 
stood  up  and  shouted  at  them. 

"You  can't  come  here!"  he  called.  "This  place 
is  taken.  Go  to  the  other  island." 

"Go  to  the  devil !"  one  of  the  puddlers  bellowed 
from  the  boat;  nevertheless  they  turned  the  boat's 
nose  round  and  went  to  the  other  island.  We  could 
hear  them  yelling  and  laughing  there,  and  singing 
in  the  commonest  fashion.  It  ruined  the  moonlight 
for  us.  From  that  time  the  bloom  was  off,  as  one 
may  say,  and  things  went  from  bad  to  worse. 

The  last  car  went  at  ten  o'clock,  and  at  half-past 
nine  we  commenced  to  pack  up.  Annette  insisted 
on  taking  the  roses;  and  there  was  the  phonograph 
and  the  club's  silver  and  dishes,  and  almost  a  boat 
load  of  stuff.  We  could  not  all  get  in,  of  course, 


22 AFFINITIES 

so  Ferd  and  Emerson  Riley  agreed  to  wait;  but 
just  as  I  got  into  the  boat  I  dropped  my  gold  bag 
overboard. 

I  would  not  go  without  the  bag.  It  was  set  with 
diamonds  and  I  did  not  know  when  I  should  get 
another.  I  just  got  out  of  the  boat  and  refused  to 
stir  until  it  had  been  fished  out. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  excitement.  The  last 
car  had  come  and  was  waiting  on  the  bank  for  its 
return  trip,  and  every  one  was  anxious  to  get  off. 
Ferd,  who  was  wet  anyway,  waded  in,  but  he  could 
not  locate  it  immediately,  and  Jane  grew  hysterical. 

"Come  on  and  leave  it,  Fan!"  she  begged. 
"What's  a  bag  compared  with  one's  reputation"? 
That  car's  moving  now !" 

"Go  on !"  I  said  coldly.  "I  shall  stay  here  until 
Ferd  finds  it.  Go  on,  all  of  you !  You  can  send  a 
man  back  with  the  boat,  I  dare  say." 

They  did  it !  I  never  was  more  astounded  in  my 
life;  but  they  all  piled  in  except  Ferd  and  me,  and 
made  for  the  shore  as  fast  as  they  could.  They  said 
it  was  all  well  enough  for  me,  with  Day  out  of 
town;  but  the  rest  of  them  never  had  any  luck  and 
they  had  to  get  that  car. 

"They're  terribly  nervous,  all  at  once!"  I  said. 
"If  that  car  goes  without  me,  Ferd,  I  shall  jump 
into  the  river!" 


AFFINITIES  23 


It  was  moonlight,  but  not  very  bright.  I  sat  on 
the  dock  and  Ferd  fished  for  the  gold  bag.  He 
brought  up  an  empty  bottle,  two  tin  cans  and  an 
old  shoe. 

"Look  here,  Fan,"  he  said  finally,  "I'll  buy  you 
a  new  bag.  I'll  do  anything — only  let's  get  out  of 
this." 

"Try  once  more." 

"I'll  get  neuralgia,"  he  said.  "I  have  to  be 
awfully  careful,  Fanny.  Ida- has  to  watch  me  like  a 
hawk." 

"I  should  imagine  so,"  I  replied  coldly. 

"I  mean  about  the  neuralgia." 

"Humph!  Day  never  has  anything  the  matter 
with  him — that's  one  thing.  Try  again,  Ferd." 

He  stooped  again,  and  this  time  he  got  it.  He 
straightened  up  with  it  in  his  hand.  The  car  was 
still  on  the  bank  and  a  boat  was  putting  out  from 
the  shore.  All  seemed  to  be  well. 

"They'll  bribe  the  motorman  to  wait,"  said  Ferd. 
"I  told  Riley  to.  So  you  see,  little  girl,  everything's 
all  right.  Here's  the  bag  and  there's  the  boat.  Do 
you  like  me  a  little  bit  again*?" 

I  felt  rather  queer,  alone  there  on  the  island  with 
him;  and  the  only  thing  that  occurred  to  me  was 
to  keep  him  down. 

"I'll  like  you  well  enough  when  we  get  back  to 
civilization,"  I  said  shortly- 


24 AFFINITIES 

"You're  not  like  yourself,  Fanny.  You  aren't  a 
bit  kind  to  me." 

"Being  nice  to  you  with  everybody  round  is  one 
thing.  This  is  another.  I'm  scared,  Ferd." 

"Not  of  me !"  he  said,  getting  hold  of  one  of  my 
hands.  He  looked  horrid  in  the  moonlight,  with  his 
collar  in  a  crease  and  his  coat  stuck  to  him.  He 
looked  awfully  thin,  too,  and  his  hair  was  in  strag 
gles  over  his  face.  "Fan,  the  boat's  coming  and  I 
never  see  you  alone.  Do  say  you  care  a  little  bit !" 

Well,  I  had  to  play  the  game.  I  am  not  a  quitter. 
I  had  let  him  get  up  the  party  and  spend  a  lot  of 
money,  and  I  had  pretended  for  months  to  be  inter 
ested  in  him.  What  was  I  to  do*?  You.  may  say 
what  you  like — a  lot  of  married  women  get  into 
things  they  never  meant  to  simply  because  they  are 
kind-hearted  and  hate  to  be  called  quitters. 

"I've  always  cared  a  little,"  I  said,  trying  not 
to  look  at  him.  "Ferd,  you're  dripping!  Don't 
touch  me!" 

"Lady-love!"  cried  Ferd,  very  close  to  my  ear; 
and  then:  "Good  gracious,  Fan!  Where's  the 
boat?" 

It  had  absolutely  disappeared!  Ferd  stood  up 
on  the  shaky  dock  and  peered  over  the  water. 

"He's  gone  to  the  other  island,"  he  said  after  a 
moment.  "They'll  tell  him  he's  wrong,  but — time's 
passing!" 


AFFINITIES 25 

He  did  not  start  the  lady-love  business  again,  and 
we  sat  side  by  side  on  the  dock,  with  the  river,  damp 
and  smelly,  underfoot.  It  was  very  silent,  save 
for  the  far-away  yells  of  the  puddlers  on  the  next 
island  and  the  drip-drip  from  Ferd's  trouser-ends 
to  the  water  below. 

Somehow  the  snap  was  gone  out  of  the  whole 
thing.  I  hated  it,  being  alone  with  him  there,  and 
his  looking  so  mussy,  and  my  vanity  case  soaking 
from  the  river.  I  hated  the  puddlers'  picnic;  there 
was  nothing  I  didn't  hate.  And  the  boatman  did 
not  come.  Even  Ferd  began  to  get  anxious. 

"The  infernal  fool!"  he  said.  "He.'s  probably 

joined  the  picnic,  and Hello,  there !"  he  called, 

with  his  hands  to  his  mouth. 

I  think  they  heard  us  on  the  bank,  for  we  could 
hear  the  trolley  bell  very  faintly.  And,  immediate 
ly  after,  the  car  moved  off!  I  had  the  most  awful 
feeling.  We  sat  on  the  boards  watching  it  getting 
smaller  and  smaller  down  the  river,  and  neither  of 
us  said  anything.  It  had  been  our  one  tie,  as  you 
may  say,  to  respectability  and  home — and  it  had 
deserted  us.  After  a  minute  Ferd  got  up  on  his  feet. 

"It's  the  puddlers,  after  all!"  he  said.  "We'll 
have  to  hail  them  and  get  them  to  send  that  ass  of 
a  boatman.  Wouldn't  you  think  that  Emerson 
Riley  would  have  had  sense  enough  to  wait  and  see 
that  we  got  over  safely*?" 


26 AFFINITIES 

I  fairly  clutched  at  his  arm. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  I  said.  "They'll 
know  you  if  they're  from  your  mill,  and  they'll 
know  I  am  not  Ida !  It  will  be  in  the  papers !" 

Ferd  looked  sulky. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  then?"  he  demanded.  "Swim 
to  the  bank?" 

"Couldn't  you  swim  to  the  other  island  and  steal 
one  of  their  boats'?" 

He  did  not  want  to.  I  could  see  that;  but  what 
else  was  there  to  do? 

"It's  a  good  way  off,"  he  said.  "It  won't  help 
things  any  for  me  to  be  drowned,  you  know." 

"It  would  be  better  than  a  scandal,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  threw  up  his  hands. 

"Oh,  if  that's  the  way  you  feel " 

"That  isn't  half  the  way  I  feel!" 

He  went  off  at  that  in  a  fury,  leaving  me  alone 
on  the  little  dock  in  a  state  of  frenzy.  I  kept  think 
ing  of  Day's  getting  home  sooner  than  he  expected 
and  finding  me  gone,  and  calling  up  the  police; 
and  my  wandering  in  about  daylight  with  my  slip 
pers  worn  through.  I  made  up  a  story — if  the  worst 
happened — about  having  had  an  attack  of  loss  of 
memory,  coming  to  myself  seven  miles  from  town 
and  walking  in. 

There  was  no  sign  of  Ferd.    The  puddlers'  picnic 


AFFINITIES 27 

was  noisier  than  ever;  they  had  brought  a  phono 
graph,  too,  and  were  dancing. 

When  I  had  waited  for  what  seemed  half  the 
night  I  got  frightened  about  Ferd.  He  had  said  it 
was  a  good  way  to  go;  and  if  he  was  drowned — 
and  Ida  really  fond  of  him,  and  welcome  to  him  so 
far  as  I  was  concerned — it  was  all  up  with  me. 
Day  would  loathe  the  very  sight  of  me.  I  knew 
that. 

The  grass  looked  snaky  in  the  moonlight  and  I 
felt  I  was  taking  my  life  in  my  hands;  but,  some 
how  or  other,  with  my  hair  pulled  down  by  branches, 
and  ankle-deep  in  mud  every  now  and  then,  I  got 
to  the  place  where  the  two  islands  faced  each  other, 
end  to  end.  There  was  not  a  sign  of  Ferd. 

I  just  sank  down  on  the  ground  and  hoped  for 
death.  There  was  no  way  out.  Jane  and  the 
others  would  think  we  had  the  boat  and  could  hire 
a  machine  or  something  to  get  to  the  city,  and  they 
would  not  give  us  another  thought.  Even  if  I  hailed 
the  puddlers  and  told  them,  they  would  never  be 
lieve  my  story.  And,  of  course,  there  was  poor  Ferd 
in  the  river  mud — sure  to  float  in  and  spoil  any  story 
I  could  make  up  about  loss  of  memory. 

It  was  when  I  had  reached  that  point  that  pande 
monium  broke  loose  on  the  other  island.  I  could 
hear  shouting — men  and  women  together — and,  in 
a  pause,  the  frantic  splashing  of  oars.  The  next 


28 AFFINITIES 

moment  a  boat  appeared  round  the  corner  of  the 
island,  with  Ferd  rowing  like  mad,  and  a  perfect 
pandemonium  from  the  shore.  He  had  stolen  their 
boat  and  they  had  found  it  out.  I  was  almost  crazy. 
I  waded  out  to  my  knees  and  called  to  him ;  and  he 
saw  me.  There  was  no  other  boat  after  him  yet, 
but  some  one  was  yelling  to  follow  him. 

Ferd  was  rather  steadied  by  the  excitement,  I 
think.  He  reached  over  and  dragged  me  in  with 
out  a  word,  and  the  next  instant  we  were  pulling 
for  the  shore  in  the  moonlight,  with  the  entire  pud- 
dlers'  picnic  on  their  bank,  calling  awful  things  to 
us. 

That  was  not  all,  though.  One  of  the  men  had 
got  into  their  other  boat  and  was  coming  after  us. 
He  could  row,  too.  I  implored  Ferd  to  hurry — 
hurry.  And  I  kept  turning  round  to  see  whether  he 
was  gaining.  That  was  how  I  discovered  why  they 
were  so  wrought  up.  There  were  two  dozen  quart 
bottles  of  champagne  in  the  stern  of  that  boat !  We 
were  carrying  off  the  picnic!  I  told  Ferd.  "Throw 
it  overboard!"  he  said.  "It'll  lighten  the  boat." 

So  I  did,  basket  after  basket;  and,  whether  it 
lightened  the  boat  or  not,  we  drew  ahead.  Ferd 
rowed  like  a  demon.  In  the  moonlight  his  face  was 
white  and  set,  with  the  queerest  expression. 

We  struck  the  shore  with  a  bump  that  sent  me  on 


AFFINITIES 29 

my  knees,  but  Ferd  grabbed  my  hand  and  jerked 
me  out. 

"Now  run — if  you  ever  ran  in  your  life!"  he  said. 
"Make  for  that  grove  over  there,  and  bend  over. 
The  bushes  will  hide  us." 

"I  can't,"  I  panted  after  a  minute.  "And  why 
should  I,  Ferd?  He's  got  his  old  boat  by  this 
time " 

"Run!"  gasped  Ferd.    And  I  ran. 

We  crouched  down  in  the  grove.  My  teeth  were 
chattering,  but  I  was  nothing  to  Ferd.  He  was 
pallid.  The  puddler  landed  just  then.  We  heard 
him  throw  his  oars  into  the  boat  and  drag  it  up  on 
the  beach,  and  I  knew  he  was  examining  the  other 
boat  and  finding  that  the  wine  was  gone.  We  could 
hear  him  breathing  hard,  and  he  even  made  a  start 
toward  us,  beating  the  bushes  with  an  oar.  He  was 
in  a  red  fury,  muttering  to  himself  in  the  most  hor 
rible  manner.  I  had  been  in  Ferd's  mill  once  or 
twice,  and  I  remembered  the  enormous  shoulders  the 
men  had,  and  how  they  simply  toyed  with  steel 
rails;  and  I  was  paralysed.  A  puddler  turned  Ber 
serk! 

He  gave  it  up  just  in  time,  however,  and  started 
back  for  the  boat.  I  could  see  him  moving  about — 
a  huge  creature  in  white  flannels.  And  he  seemed 
to  have  cut  himself  on  a  branch  or  something,  for 
he  was  tying  a  handkerchief  round  his  forehead. 


30  AFFINITIES 

We  did  not  dare  to  move  until  he  had  started  back 
and  was  safely  out  from  shore.  Ferd's  voice  had 
lost  its  strained  quality  and  he  looked  a  little  less 
like  death.  We  could  hear  the  picnic  party  calling 
to  the  man  in  the  boat  about  the  wine,  and  his  call 
ing  back  that  we  had  got  away  with  it,  but  for  some 
of  them  to  come  over  and  they  could  beat  the  bushes. 
They  couldn't  come,  of  course,  until  he  took  the 
boat  back. 

"We've  got  to  get  out  of  here,  Fan,"  Ferd  said. 
"In  ten  minutes  the  whole  shooting  match  will  be 
here.  Can  you  run  any  more*?" 

"Not  a  foot — I'm  all  in.  And  I  lost  a  shoe  in  the 
water  at  the  island." 

Ferd  groaned. 

"They'll  have  us  up  for  stealing  their  champagne," 
he  said.  "I  suppose  you  can  walk." 

"I  can  limp  along,  I  dare  say."  I  was  wet  and 
cold,  and  horribly  miserable.  "Don't  let  me  detain 
you.  They  can't  arrest  me  for  stealing  their  wine. 
You  did  that." 

He  turned  to- me  suddenly. 

"Fan,"  he  said  solemnly,  "don't  ask  me  why,  but 
we  must  get  out  of  here  quick.  Must !  If  you  can't 
walk,  roll.  Now  come  on!" 

There  were  no  houses  in  sight.  The  trolley  line 
ends  there,  and  I  think  it  is  a  picnic  grove.  He  took 
my  hand  and  dragged  me  along.  I  lost  my  other 


AFFINITIES 31 

slipper,  but  he  paid  no  attention  when  I  told  him  of 
it;  and  just  when  I  was  about  to  sink  down  and  die 
we  reached  a  road. 

"Now,"  said  Ferd,  "they  came  in  something — 
machines  probably — for  they'll  have  to  get  back, 
and  there  are  no  more  cars.  Ah,  there  they  are!" 

There  were  two  machines.  I  gripped  Ferd's  arm 
and  held  him  back  desperately. 

"The  chauffeurs?"  I  gasped. 

"We'll  kill  'em,  if  necessary,"  he  said  betweea 
clenched  teeth. 

We  were  loping  down  the  road  toward  the  ma 
chines — Ferd  sloshing,  rather,  with  each  step;  and 
we  could  hear  loud  calling  from  the  islands  and  the 
banging  of  oars  in  oarlocks. 

"F-Ferd,"  I  managed  to  say,  "c-can — you — drive 
—a— car?" 

"Why,  you  can,  can't  you?" 

"I — can — d-drive — my — own  car.  I  d-don't — 
know  about — any  other." 

"They're  all  alike.    The  principle's  the  same." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  principles,"  I 
said  despairingly.  "And  I  won't  touch  a  strange 
machine." 

"Oh,  very  well !"  said  Ferd  sulkily.  "We'll  make 
a  deuce  of  a  stir — arrested  here  for  stealing  a  case 
of  champagne;  but  never  mind.  It'll  blow  over." 

"We  can  tell  the  whole  story." 


82 AFFINITIES 

"We  cannot!"  he  said  gloomily.  "We  can't  tell 
on  Jane  and  Annette  and  Catherine.  We'll  have  to 
take  our  medicine,  that's  all.  We  needn't  give  our 
own  names.  That's  one  thing." 

I  was  perfectly  crazed  with  fright  and  exhaustion. 
I  leaned  up  against  a  fence,  and  I  remembered  the 
time  Lily  Slater  asked  Ollie  Haynes  to  see  her  off 
to  Chicago,  her  husband  being  out  of  town;  and 
how  Ollie  was  carried  two  hundred  miles  before 
the  train  would  stop  to  let  him  off;  and  how 
Harry  never  believed  the  story  and  was  off  shoot 
ing  big  game  at  that  very  minute ;  and  Lily  getting 
gray  over  her  ears  as  a  result,  and  not  even  going  out 
to  lunch  with  anybody  for  fear  there  were  detectives 
watching  her. 

And,  compared  with  Day,  Harry  Slater  was  an 
angel  of  mildness. 

The  boat  was  almost  across  by  that  time  and  Ferd 
was  wringing  the  ends  of  his  trousers.  A  sort  of 
frenzy  seized  me.  It  seemed  to  me  it  would  be  bet 
ter  to  be  found  crushed  under  a  strange  car  than 
to  be  arrested  for  stealing  champagne.  I  started  on, 
rather  tottery. 

"I'll  try  it,  Ferd,"  I  said.  "I  think  we'll  be 
killed;  but  come  on!" 

For  once  luck  was  with  us.  It  was  a  car  exactly 
like  my  own!  I  almost  cried  for  joy.  I  leaped 
in  and  pressed  the  starter,  and  the  purr  of  the  engine 


AFFINITIES  33 

was  joyous,  absolutely.  I  let  in  the  clutch  and 
the  darling  slid  along  without  a  jerk.  We  were 
saved!  I  could  drive  that  car.  I  snapped  the  gear 
lever  forward  into  high  and  the  six  cylinders  leaped 
to  our  salvation.  We  were  off,  with  the  white  road 
ahead;  and  the  puddlers  were  only  beaching  their 
boat.  Ferd  sat  half  turned  and  watched  for  pur 
suit. 

"They'll  search  the  bushes  first,"  he  said. 
"They'll  not  think  of  the  machines  for  a  few  min 
utes.  We  can  hit  it  up  along  the  highway  for  four 
or  five  miles;  then  we'd  better  turn  into  a  side  road 
and  put  out  the  lights  and  take  off  the  license  plates. 
They'll  telephone  ahead  possibly  and  give  the  li 
cense  number." 

We  were  going  pretty  fast  by  that  time  and  just 
at  that  moment  I  saw  a  buggy  ahead  in  the  road. 
Ferd  called  to  me;  but  it  was  too  late — I  had  pressed 
the  siren  and  the  very  hills  echoed. 

"Good  heavens,  Fan!"  he  said.  "You've  done 
it  now!" 

We  topped  a  rise  just  then  and  Ferd  looked 
back.  The  puddlers  were  running  along  the  road 
toward  the  place  where  they  had  left  their  cars.  It 
was  a  race  for  life  after  that.  Ferd  bent  over  and 
pressed  the  button  that  put  out  the  tail  light,  and  I 
threw  on  all  the  gas  I  could. 

"It's  getting  pretty  serious,"  Ferd  said.  "We'll  go 


34  AFFINITIES 

up  for  a  year  or  two  for  this,  probably.  Stealing  a 
machine  is  no  joke." 

"If  it  comes  to  that  I'll  steer  the  thing  over  a 
bank  and  die  with  it!"  I  said,  with  my  jaw  set. 
"Ferd,  there's  something  wrong  somewhere !  Listen 
to  that  knocking!" 

The  engine  was  not  behaving  well.  It  was  not 
hitting  right  and  it  was  telling  on  our  speed.  As 
we  topped  a  long  rise  Ferd  saw  the  lights  of  an 
other  car  appear  over  the  crest  of  the  last  hill. 
Down  in  the  valley  ahead  lay  a  village,  sound  asleep. 
We  raced  through  it  like  mad.  A  man  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  rushed  out  of  a  house  and  yelled  something 
to  us  about  stopping,  that  we  were  under  arrest. 
We  almost  went  over  him. 

The  race  would  be  over  soon,  that  was  clear.  The 
car  was  making  time,  but  not  better  time  than  the 
other  machine.  I  do  not  know  how  I  got  the  idea, 
but  we  went  limping  and  banging  along  until  we  had 
reached  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  just  beyond,  be 
side  the  road,  was  a  barn,  with  the  doors  open.  I 
turned  the  car  in  there,  shut  off  the  engine  and  put 
out  the  lamps.  Ferd  caught  the  idea  at  once  and 
leaped  out  and  closed  the  doors. 

"Good  girl !"  he  said.  "Unless  the  farmer  heard 
us  and  comes  out  to  investigate,  this  is  pretty  snug, 
lady-love.  They'll  pass  us  without  even  hesitating." 

They  did  not,  though.     It  gives  me  gooseflesh 


AFFINITIES 35 

merely  to  remember  the  next  half-hour.  We  waited 
inside  the  door  for  the  car  to  pass.  We  could  hear 
it  coming.  But  just  at  the  barn  it  stopped  and  we 
could  hear  them  arguing.  It  seems  the  road  forked 
there  and  they  were  not  certain  which  way  we  had 
gone.  My  knees  were  shaking  with  terror  and  Ferd 
was  breathing  hard. 

When  I  look  back  I  think  I  should  have  noticed 
how  queer  Ferd  was  during  the  whole  thing;  and, 
when  you  think  of  it,  why  did  he  steal  the  boat  at 
the  beginning  and  not  just  borrow  it*?  But  I  was 
absolutely  unsuspicious;  and  as  for  noticing,  there 
was  no  time. 

I  lost  my  courage,  I'll  admit,  when  they  stopped ; 
and  I  ran  to  the  back  of  the  barn.  There  was  a  horse 
there  and  I  squeezed  in  beside  the  thing;  it  was  com 
pany  anyhow  and  not  running  about  the  country  try 
ing  to  arrest  people  who  were  merely  attempting  to 
get  home.  It  seemed  uneasy  and  I  tried  to  pat  its 
head  to  soothe  it — and  it  had  horns!  I  almost 
fainted.  Somehow  or  other  I  climbed  out,  and  Ferd 
was  coming  toward  me. 

"Sh !"  he  whispered.  "They've  roused  the  farmer, 
and — holy  smoke! — they're  coming  in!" 

Somebody  had  opened  one  of  the  doors  about  six 
inches.  That  made  a  path  of  moonlight  across  the 
board  floor. 

"I  dunno  why  they  closed  the  barn  doors  to- 


36 AFFINITIES 

night,"  said  the  farmer  from  the  opening — "mostly 
we  leave  'em  open.  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  want 
water  for  your  automobile  there's  a  pail  inside  the 
door  here,  and  the  pump's  round  the  corner  in  the 
pig  yard." 

Fred  clutched  my  arm.  The  moonlight  path  was 
slowly  widening  as  the  door  swung  open.  "Quick!" 
he  said ;  and  the  next  minute  I  was  climbing  a  ladder 
to  the  haymow,  with  Ferd  at  my  heels. 

One  thing  saved  us  and  one  only:  the  farmer 
did  not  come  inside  to  see  the  car;  and  whoever  did 
come  clearly  thought  it  belonged  to  the  place  and 
never  even  glanced  at  it.  As  for  us  we  lay  face  down 
in  that  awful  haymow  with  openings  in  the  hay  big 
enough  to  fall  through,  and  watched  and  listened. 
I  shall  never  be  the  same  person  again  after  that 
experience. 

Whenever  I  get  cocky,  as  Day  would  say,  and  re 
flect  on  my  own  virtues,  and  how  few  things  I  do 
that  any  one  could  find  fault  with,  not  playing 
bridge  for  more  than  two  and  a  half  cents  a  point, 
and  stopping  a  flirtation  before  it  reaches  any  sort 
of  gossipy  stage,  I  think  of  Ferd  and  myself  in  that 
awful  haymow,  with  a  man  below  searching  round 
that  miserable  machine  for  a  pail,  and  Ferd  oozing 
a  slow  drip-drip  on  the  floor  below  that  was  enough 
to  give  us  away — like  the  blood  dropping  from  the 
ceiling  in  that  play  of  David  Belasco's. 


AFFINITIES 37 

There  was  one  awful  moment  before  it  was  all 
over,  when  the  farmer  had  gone  back  to  bed  and 
the  man  returned  the  pail.  The  others  were  all  in 
their  machine,  yelling  to  be  off. 

"They've  had  time  to  be  gone  twenty  miles,"  one 
of  them  snarled.  "The  next  time  we  see  them,  shoot 
at  their  tires.  It's  the  only  way." 

The  man  with  the  pail  stood  in  the  doorway  and 
glanced  in. 

"Pipe  the  car!"  he  said.  "The  farmers  are  the 
only  folks  with  real  money  these  days." 

He  came  in  with  the  pail  and  one  of  the  drops 
from  Ferd's  clothes  hit  him  directly  on  top  of  the 
head!  I  heard  it  spat!  He  stopped  as  if  he  had 
been  shot  and  looked  up.  I  closed  my  eyes  and 
waited  for  the  end;  but — nothing  happened.  He 
put  away  the  pail  and  hurried  out,  and  the  machine 
went  on. 

It  was  Ferd  who  spoke  first.  He  raised  himself 
on  an  elbow  and  listened.  Then  he  drew  a  long 
breath,  as  if  he  had  not  breathed  for  an  hour. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  may  not  be  a  thief  and  a  rob 
ber,  as  well  as  an  abductor  of  young  married  women, 
but  I  feel  like  one."  He  looked  about  the  haymow, 
and  at  me,  crumpled  in  my  corner.  "Really,  you 
know,"  he  said,  "this  sort  of  thing  isn't  done, 
Fanny." 

"If  it  only  doesn't  get  into  the  papers !"  I  wailed. 


38 AFFINITIES 

"And  if  only  Day  doesn't  hear  of  it!  Ferd,  I  must 
look  a  mess." 

He  glanced  at  me.  The  moonlight  was  coming 
through  a  window. 

"You  do  look  rather  frowzy,"  he  said. 

I  think,  if  there  is  a  psychological  moment  for 
such  things,  that  was  the  moment.  My  affair,  mild 
as  it  was,  was  dead  from  that  instant.  Day  would 
never  have  said  such  a  thing.  Day  never  takes  his 
irritation  out  on  me;  the  worse  I  look  the  more  cer 
tain  Day  is  to  reassure  me.  For  instance,  Day 
never  says  that — to  him — I  am  as  pretty  as  the  day 
he  first  met  me.  He  says  that  I  am  prettier  than  I 
ever  was,  and  that  every  one  thinks  so.  Day  has 
a  positive  talent  for  being  married. 

Well,  we  sat  in  the  haymow  and  quarrelled.  We 
thought  it  best  to  let  them  go  on,  give  up  the  search 
and  go  back  to  the  island  for  their  women  compan 
ions,  before  venturing  out.  So  we  sat  and  fought. 

"It  was  stupid,"  I  said,  "to  have  stolen  the  boat 
and  not  borrowed  it." 

"I'd  have  had  to  explain  you,"  said  Ferd. 

"You  need  not  have  mentioned  me.  What  is  a 
lie  for,  if  not  for  such  an  emergency"?  Couldn't  you 
have  found  that  boatman?  That  would  have  ex 
plained  everything." 

"I  couldn't  find  the  boatman." 

"Did  you  try?' 


AFFINITIES  39 

O  .  .-...—         .  I  I.  I  .-.—,..,..        .......         .—......•— •,•.—  I 

He  turned  sulky. 

"I  did  my  best,"  he  said.  "I  risked  my  life.  I'll 
probably  have  a  sick  spell  as  it  is.  I've  got  a  chill. 
How  did  I  know  the  infernal  boat  had  champagne 
in  it?' 

I  sat  and  thought.  A  lot  of  things  came  to  me 
that  I  had  not  thought  of  before,  such  as  Ferd  hav 
ing  got  up  the  party  and  put  me  in  my  present  posi 
tion,  and  having  been  a  stupid  in  more  ways  than 
one.  And  what  if  Day  had  got  home  unexpected 
ly?  I  said  this  to  Ferd. 

"Why  didn't  you  think  of  that  sooner?"  he  de 
manded  brutally. 

"What  time  is  it?"  I  asked,  as  sweetly  as  I  could. 

He  held  his  watch  up  in  the  moonlight,  but  of 
course  it  was  full  of  water  and  not  running.  His 
matches  and  cigarettes  were  wet,  too,  and  he  grew 
more  beastly  every  minute. 

"Ferd,"  I  said  finally,  "I'm  afraid  lately  you've 
been  thinking  that  I — that  I  cared  for  you.  It  was 
my  fault.  I  let  you  think  so.  I  don't,  really.  I 
only  care  for  one  man  and  I  think  you  ought  to 
know  it.  I've  been  a  shameless  flirt.  That's  all." 

Instead  of  being  downcast,  he  rather  brightened 
up  at  that  remark. 

"You'll  break  my  heart  if  you  say  that,"  he  said, 
trying  not  to  be  too  cheerful. 

"There's  only  one  man  for  me!"  I  said  firmly. 


40 AFFINITIES 

"It's  not  fashionable,  but  it's  very  comforting.  It's 
Day." 

"I'll  never  be  the  same  man  again,  Fanny,"  he 
replied.  "Am  I  not  to  call  you  up,  or  send  you 
flowers,  or  look  forward  to  seeing  you  at  the  Coun 
try  Club  on  Sunday  afternoons'?  Is  life  to  lose  all 
its  joy?" 

"Oh,  we'll  have  to  meet,  of  course,"  I  said  largely; 
"but — the  other  is  off  for  good,  Ferd!  I  find  I 
can't  stand  too  much  of  you.  You're  too  heady." 

Well,  he  was  almost  blithe  over  it,  and  sat  talk 
ing  about  Ida,  and  what  a  trump  she  was  about 
the  time  he  lost  so  much  on  copper,  and  the  way 
she  came  home  from  Nice  when  he  had  typhoid.  It 
was  stupid ;  but  if  you  can  understand  me  it  seemed 
to  put  a  cachet  of  respectability  on  our  position. 
The  more  we  talked  about  Day  and  Ida,  the  more 
we  felt  that  the  tongue  of  scandal  could  never  touch 
us.  We  made  a  pact  of  pi  atonic  friendship,  too, 
and  shook  hands  on  it;  and  it  shows  how  dead  the 
old  affair  was  when  Ferd  never  even  kissed  my 
hand. 

About  an  hour  afterward  the  other  car  went  back 
toward  the  island  and  we  got  up  stiffly  and  crawled 
down  the  ladder.  Ferd  had  had  a  nap,  and  he 
slept  with  his  mouth  open! 

We  slipped  out  of  the  barn  in  the  moonlight  and 
reconnoitered.  There  was  no  one  in  sight  and  the 


AFFINITIES 41 

house  across  the  road  was  dark.  Ferd  took  off  the 
license  plates  and  put  them  under  one  of  the  seat 
cushions  and  I  looked  for  the  short  circuit.  I  found 
it  at  last,  and  Ferd  fixed  it  with  his  pen-knife.  Then 
he  threw  the  doors  open  and  we  backed  into  the  road. 
The  last  thing  I  remember  is  that  as  we  started  off 
a  window  was  raised  in  the  farmhouse  and  some 
body  yelled  after  us  to  stop. 

"Damnation!"  said  Ferd  between  his  teeth. 
"He'll  telephone  ahead  and  they'll  cut  us  off!" 

"We  needn't  stick  to  the  main  road.  We  can  go 
back  through  the  country." 

We  found  a  lane  leading  off  half  a  mile  farther 
along  and  I  turned  into  it.  It  was  rough,  but  its 
very  condition  argued  for  safety.  As  Ferd  said,  no 
one  in  his  sane  mind  would  choose  such  a  road.  The 
secret  of  the  lane  came  out  a  mile  or  so  farther  on, 
however,  when  it  came  to  an  end  in  a  barnyard.  It 
was  a  blow,  really.  We  did  not  dare  to  go  back 
and  we  could  not  possibly  go  ahead. 

"I  can  go  up  to  the  house  and  ask  about  the  road," 
Ferd  said.  "The  old  stage  road  ought  to  be  round 
here  somewhere.  If  we  can't  find  it  there's  nothing 
to  do  but  to  walk,  Fan." 

"I  can't  walk,"  I  said,  "and  I  won't  walk.  I'm 
in  my  stocking  feet.  I'm  through.  Let's  just  go 
back  and  get  arrested  and  have  it  over.  I  can't 
stand  much  more." 


42 AFFINITIES 

"It's  only  twelve  miles  or  so  to  town." 

"I  couldn't  walk  twelve  miles  to  escape  hanging!" 

Ferd  crawled  out  of  the  car  and  through  a  pig 
yard.  I  heard  the  pigs  squealing.  And  then  for 
five  awful  minutes  I  heard  nothing  except  his  distant 
knock  and  muffled  voices.  Then  there  was  a  silence, 
and  out  of  it  came  Ferd  headlong.  He  fell  over 
the  fence  and  landed  in  the  mud  beside  the  car. 

"Quick!"  he  panted.  "Turn  round  and  get  back 
to  the  main  road.  They've  got  him  on  the  telephone, 
and  in  another  minute " 

Did  you  ever  try  to  turn  an  automobile  in  a  panic 
and  a  small  barnyard,  with  broken  mowing  machines 
and  old  wagons  everywhere?  I  just  could  not  do 
it.  I  got  part  way  round,  with  Ferd  begging  me  for 
Heaven's  sake  to  get  some  speed  on,  when  we  heard 
people  coming  from  the  house  on  a  run,  and  a  woman 
yelling  from  a  window  that  she  could  see  us  and  to 
shoot  quick. 

There  was  a  field  next  the  barnyard — a  pasture, 
I  suppose — and  the  bars  were  down  that  led  into  it. 
I  just  headed  the  car  for  it  and  shut  my  eyes.  Then 
we  were  shooting  forward  in  a  series  of  awful  bumps, 
with  Ferd  holding  on  with  both  hands,  and  the  noise 
behind  was  dying  away. 

I  do  not  recall  the  details  of  that  part  of  the  trip. 
Ferd  says  we  went  through  two  creeks  and  a  small 
woods,  and  entirely  through  and  over  a  barbed-wire 


AFFINITIES  43 

fence,  which  was  probably  where  we  got  our  punc 
tures.  However  that  may  be,  in  five  minutes  or  so 
we  drew  up  just  inside  a  fence  on  the  other  side  of 
which  was  a  road.  And  we  had  two  flat  tires. 

Ferd  tried  to  take  the  fence  down,  but  he  could 
not;  so  I  did  the  only  thing  I  could  think  of,  and 
butted  it  down  with  the  car.  The  glass  in  the  lamps 
was  smashed,  but  we  were  too  far  gone  by  that  time 
to  care.  I  had  just  one  thought;  if  the  gas  only 
held  out! 

Ferd  was  quite  sure  he  knew  the  way  to  town,  but 
it  turned  out  he  did  not.  For  hours  and  hours  we 
bumped  along  on  two  tires  and  two  rims,  until  my 
shoulders  felt  torn  from  their  sockets.  The  worst  of 
it  was  the  noise  we  made.  Every  now  and  then  we 
passed  a  farmhouse  where  the  lights  were  going  and 
everybody  had  been  roused  for  the  automobile 
thieves ;  and,  instead  of  slipping  past,  we  bumped  by 
like  a  circus  parade  with  a  calliope. 

The  moon  was  gone  by  that  time;  and,  our  lamps 
being  broken,  more  than  once  we  left  the  road  en 
tirely  and  rolled  merrily  along  in  a  field  until  we 
brought  up  against  something.  And,  of  course,  we 
met  a  car.  We  heard  it  coming,  but  there  was  noth 
ing  to  do  but  bump  along.  It  was  a  limousine,  and 
it  hailed  us  and  drew  up  so  we  could  not  pass. 

"In  trouble*?"  a  man  called. 

"Nothing  serious,"  Ferd  said  peevishly. 


44 AFFINITIES 

"Glad  to  give  you  a  hand.  You're  cutting  your 
tires  to  bits." 

"No;  thanks." 

"I  can  take  you  back  to  town  if  you  like." 

It  was  Bill  Henderson,  Jane's  husband,  on  his 
way  from  the  club  to  his  mother's  in  the  country! 
I  could  not  even  breathe.  Ferd  knew  it  too,  that 
minute. 

"We  are  getting  along  all  right,"  he  snapped,  try 
ing  to  disguise  his  voice.  "If  you'll  get  your  car  out 
of  the  way " 

"Oh,  all  right,  Ferd,  old  chap!"  said  Bill,  and 
signalled  his  man  to  go  on. 

We  sat  as  if  petrified.  Bill  was  Ida's  cousin! 
The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard ;  though  why  one 
should  have  to  lose  a  reputation  built  up  by  years 
of  careful  living  just  for  one  silly  indiscretion  is 
what  gets  me.  I  put  a  hand  on  Ferd's  arm. 

"I'm  gone!"  I  wailed.  "It  will  be  all  over  town 
to-morrow.  Bill's  the  worst  old  gossip.  Oh,  Ferd!" 

"He  didn't  see  you,"  Ferd  snapped.  "For  good 
ness'  sake,  Fan,  shut  up!  This  is  my  mess.  There 
isn't  any  limit  to  the  things  he  can  say  about  me." 

We  bumped  on  a  little  farther.  I  was  crying,  I'll 
admit;  my  head  ached  and  my  spine  was  jarred 
numb. 

"You'll  have  to  do  one  thing,"  he  said  at  last. 


AFFINITIES 45 

"You'll  have  to  tell  Ida  it  was  you.  Heaven  knows 
what  she'll  think." 

CT11  die  first!"  I  snapped. 

Well,  we  got  into  town  finally  and  it  was  three- 
thirty  by  the  first  clock  we  saw.  Ferd  got  out  and 
looked  at  the  car,  and  then  climbed  in  again. 

"Better  get  along  a  few  blocks  and  then  leave  it," 
he  said.  "It  looks  something  fierce,  and  so  do  we." 

And  at  that  instant,  before  I  could  even  start  the 
engine,  we  were  arrested  for  stealing  the  miserable 
thing ! 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  Ferd  said  loftily,  but 
looking  green  in  the  electric  light.  "This  is  Mrs. 
Day  Illington  and  this  is  her  own  machine." 

"Are  you  Mr.  Illington?" 

"Yes!"  said  Ferd. 

The  man  looked  very  strange,  as  well  he  might, 
considering — well,  considering  the  facts  that  came 
out  later. 

"I'll  have  to  trouble  you  to  come  with  me,"  he 
said,  politely  enough.  "It  will  be  only  a  short  de 
lay  and  we'll  get  this  straightened  out.  But  a  car 
answering  this  description  was  stolen  out  the  road 
a  few  miles  and  headed  toward  town,  and  there's  a 
reward  offered." 

He  stood  on  the  step  and  I  drove  to  the  station 
house.  I  had  it  fixed  in  my  own  mind  to  go  home 
and  write  a  letter  to  Day  confessing  all,  and  then 


46 AFFINITIES 

pack  a  few  things  and  hide  my  wretched  self  for 
the  rest  of  my  life.  I  even  planned  what  to  take; 
my  jewelry  and  my  checkbook,  and  only  a  dinner 
dress  or  two;  and  I  wrote  the  letter  to  Day — in  my 
mind — and  one  to  Ida,  telling  her  it  was  only  a  lark, 
but  it  had  gone  wrong  without  any  fault  of  mine. 
Then  we  drew  up  at  the  station. 

Ferd  got  out  and  went  in,  and  the  officer  turned 
on  the  pavement  to  help  me  out.  But  it  was  my 
chance  and  I  took  it;  I  just  threw  on  the  gas  full 
and  shot  ahead  down  the  street.  He  yelled  after 
me  and  then  began  shooting.  One  bullet  must  have 
struck  the  good  rear  tire,  for  it  collapsed  and  al 
most  turned  the  car  round.  But  I  was  desperate.  I 
never  looked  back.  I  just  drove  for  all  I  was  worth 
down  the  street  to  its  end,  and  after  that  down  other 
streets,  and  still  others.  All  the  time  I  was  saying 
I  would  rather  die,  and  going  round  corners  on  two 
wheels,  or  one  wheel  and  a  rim. 

Finally  I  got  into  a  part  of  town  I  knew  and 
pulled  up  half  a  block  from  my  own  house.  I  re« 
call  that  and  leaving  the  engine  still  going,  and  that 
hideous  nightmare  of  a  machine  standing  by  the 
curb,  with  its  tires  lying  out  on  the  road  in  ribbons 
and  its  lamps  smashed;  and  I  remember  going  up 
the  steps  and  finding  the  hall  door  unlocked.  Then 
I  recall  nothing  more  for  a  while.  I  fainted. 

It  was  Martha,  one  of  the  housemaids,  who  found 


AFFINITIES 47 

me,  I  believe,  as  she  was  going  out  to  early  mass. 
They  got  me  upstairs  to  bed  and  there  was  no  use 
trying  to  run  away  that  night;  I  could  hardly 
stand.  They  got  me  some  hot  tea  and  a  doctor  and 
a  trained  nurse,  and  in  the  morning  before  breakfast 
Day  came  back.  He  tiptoed  into  my  room  and  tried 
to  kiss  me,  looking  awfully  frightened;  but  I  would 
not  let  him. 

"Send  the  nurse  out!"  I  whispered.  So  he  did; 
and  still  I  would  not  let  him  kiss  me.  "Not  until 
I've  told  you  something,"  I  said  feebly.  "You  may 
not  care  to  when  you've  heard  it  all." 

He  looked  so  big  and  so  dependable  and  so  wor 
ried  that  I  could  have  screamed;  but  I  had  to  tell 
him.  Bill  Henderson  might  have  recognised  me; 
and  Ferd,  as  like  as  not,  would  be  goose  enough  to 
tell  Ida  the  whole  story.  And,  anyhow,  there's  noth 
ing  like  perfect  honesty  between  husband  and  wife. 

"Day,"  I  said  tremulously,  "I'm  a  felon — a  thief! 
I — I  stole  a  lot  of  champagne  last  night  and  an  au 
tomobile,  and  broke  down  fences,  and  almost  ran 
over  a  policeman,  and  was  arrested — or  Ferd  was — 
Day,  don't  look  like  that!"  For  his  face  was  ter 
rible.  He  had  gone  quite  white. 

"You!"  he  said. 

"Get  up  and  stand  by  the  window,  looking  out," 
I  implored  him.  "I  can  tell  you  better  if  I  can't 
see  your  eyes." 


48  AFFINITIES 

So  he  did  and  I  told  him  the  whole  thing.  He 
never  moved,  and  I  kept  getting  more  and  more 
frightened.  It  sounded  worse,  somehow,  when  I 
told  it.  When  I  had  finished  he  did  not  come  to 
me  as  I  had  hoped.  He  said: 

"I'd  like  a  few  minutes  to  get  used  to  it,  Fan.  I'll 
go  out  and  walk  about  a  bit.  It's — it's  just  a  lit 
tle  hard  to  grasp,  all  at  once." 

So  he  went  out,  and  I  lay  and  cried  into  my  pil 
low;  but  when  the  nurse  had  brought  me  some  tea 
and  raised  the  shades,  and  the  sun  came  in,  I  felt 
a  little  better.  He  had  not  been  noisy,  anyhow; 
and  in  time  perhaps  he  would  forgive  me,  though 
probably  he  would  never  really  trust  me  again.  I 
got  up  in  a  chair  and  had  my  hair  tied  with  a  ribbon 
and  my  nails  done,  and  put  on  my  new  negligee  with 
lace  sleeves;  and  I  felt  pretty  well,  considering. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  policeman  on  the  beat  asked  to 
see  me.  I  sent  down  word  that  I  was  indisposed; 
but  he  said  it  was  urgent  and  would  only  take  a 
moment.  The  nurse  put  a  blanket  over  my  knees 
and  a  pillow  behind  me,  and  the  officer  came  in.  I 
was  frightened;  but  after  all  my  only  real  fear  had 
been  Day,  and  now  that  he  knew,  Fate  could  hardly 
have  a  fresh  blow.  But  it  had,  all  right. 

"Sorry  to  disturb  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  officer, 
"but  it's  about  your  car." 

"Yes?"     My  lips  were  trembling. 


AFFINITIES  49 

"It's  been  found;  I  found  it — and  only  a  block 
or  so  away,  ma'am;  but  it's  in  bad  shape — lamps 
smashed  and  tires  chewed  to  ribbons.  It's  a  sight, 
for  sure!" 

"But  that's  not  my  car!"  I  exclaimed,  forgetting 
caution. 

"I  guess  there's  no  mistake  about  it,  ma'am. 
Those  fellows  that  stole  it,  up  the  river,  must  have 
climbed  fences  with  it." 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  my  car*?"  I  was  absolute 
ly  bewildered. 

"These  are  your  license  plates,  aren't  they*?  I 
found  them  under  the  seat." 

They  were  my  license  plates! 

Day  came  in  shortly  after  and  tiptoed  into  the 
room.  The  nurse  was  out.  He  came  over  to  me 
and  stooped  down. 

"It  took  me  a  little  by  surprise,  honey,"  he  said; 
"but  that's  over  now.  You've  been  foolish,  but 
you've  had  your  lesson.  Let's  kiss  and  be  friends 
again." 

"Just  a  moment,  Day,"  I  said  calmly.  "Have 
you  had  your  lesson?" 

"Just  what  do  you  mean*?" 

He  followed  my  eyes  to  the  table  and  the  license 
plates  were  there.  He  actually  paled. 

"Where  did  you  get  them?" 


50 AFFINITIES 

"Under  the  seat  of  the  car  Ferd  and  I  stole  last 
night  at  Devil's  Island — my  car,  which  you  said 
was  being  overhauled!" 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  he  got  down  on  his 
knees  and  put  his  head  in  my  lap. 

"I've  had  my  lesson — honest,  honey!"  he  said. 
"Some  darned  fool  suggested  a  picnic  on  one  of 
those  islands — mixed  couples — and  I  was  ass  enough 
to  agree.  I  took  Ida  Jackson.  We  didn't  have  any 
picnic — the  champagne  was  stolen " 

"Ferd  and  I "  I  put  in. 

"And  then  my  car  went " 

"My  car — and  I  took  it." 

"And  we  spent  all  the  evening  and  part  of  the 
night  chasing  the  thing  for  fear  you'd  hear  of  it!" 
He  looked  up  at  me  and  there  were  dark  circles 
round  his  eyes.  "I  haven't  been  to  bed  at  all, 
honey,"  he  said  humbly.  "It's  been  a  rotten  night ! 
I've  had  enough  affinity  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 
There's  nobody  like  you!" 

I  would  not  kiss  him  just  then,  but  I  let  him  lie 
down  on  my  couch  and  hold  my  hand  until  he 
dropped  asleep.  Somehow  the  words  of  Ferd's  silly 
card  kept  running  through  my  head: 

Another  woman  now  and  then 
Is  relished  by  the  best  of  men. 


AFFINITIES 51 

My  little  affair  with  Ferd  had  seemed  harmless 
enough  and  the  picnic  had  been  a  lark;  but  Day  and 
Ida  had  had  a  picnic  and  it  had  been  a  lark — only 
the  shoe  was  on  the  other  foot,  and  it  hurt! 

And  somehow,  as  I  sat  there,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  affinity  business  was  only  fun  because  it  was 
dangerous.  We  were  all  children,  and  life  was  a 
Fourth  of  July,  enchanting  because  it  was  risky. 

Day  was  sleeping,  with  his  mouth  shut !  I  leaned 
over  and  kissed  him  as  he  dozed. 

Sitting  there,  with  Day  asleep,  I  went  over  the 
events  of  the  night,  and  I  knew  that  Ferd  had  had 
his  lesson,  too,  and  that,  having  been  burnt,  he 
would  not  play  with  fire  again — at  least  not  until 
the  blister  had  healed;  for  Ferd  had  seen  the  island 
picnickers  and  had  learned  that  they  were  not  pud- 
dlers.  He  had  seen  Ida  and  Day  and,  worst  of  all, 
he  had  known  that  it  was  Day  who  was  pursuing  us. 

I  thought  of  that  hour  in  the  haymow,  with  Day 
and  the  others  below,  and  Ferd  dripping;  and  very 
quietly,  so  as  not  to  waken  my  husband,  I  went  into 
a  paroxysm  of  mirth. 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND 


I'VE  thought  the  thing  over  and  over,  and  hon 
estly  I  don't  know  where  it  went  wrong.     It 
began  so  well.     I  planned  it  out,  and  it  went  ex 
actly  as  I'd  expected  up  to  a  certain  point.     Then 
it  blew  up. 

There's  no  argument  about  it,  a  girl  has  to  look 
out  for  herself.  The  minute  the  family  begin  mix 
ing  in  there's  trouble. 

The  day  after  I  came  out  mother  and  I  had  a  real 
heart-to-heart  talk.  I'd  been  away  for  years  at 
school,  and  in  the  summers  we  hadn't  seen  much  of 
each  other.  She  played  golf  all  day  and  I  had  my 
tennis  and  my  horse.  And  in  the  evenings  there 
were  always  kid  dances.  So  we  really  got  acquainted 
that  day. 

She  rustled  into  my  room  and  gazed  at  what  was 
left  of  my  ball  gown,  spread  out  on  the  bed. 

"It  really  went  rather  well  last  night,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  mother,"  I  replied. 

"I've  sent  the  best  of  the  flowers  to  the  hospital." 

"Yes,  mother." 

"You  had  more  flowers  than  Bessie  Willing." 

55 


56 AFFINITIES 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  for  some  reason 
or  other  that  irritated  her. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Kit,"  she  said  sharply,  "I 
wish  you'd  show  a  little  appreciation.  Your  father 
has  spent  a  fortune  on  you,  one  way  and  another. 

The  supper  alone  last  night But  that's  not 

what  I  came  to  talk  about." 

"No,  mother?" 

"No.  Are  you  going  to  continue  to  waste  your 
time  on  Henry  Baring?" 

"I  rather  enjoy  playing  round  with  him.  That's 
all  it  amounts  to." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  mother  in  her  best  manner.  "It 
keeps  the  others  away." 

"As,  for  instance?"  I  asked  politely. 

She  was  getting  on  my  nerves.  I  didn't  mean  to 
marry  Henry,  but  I  did  mean  to  carry  on  my  own 
campaign. 

"You  know  very  well  that  there  are  only  three 
marriageable  men  in  town.  There  are  eleven  de 
butantes.  And — I  don't  care  to  be  unkind,  but  at 
least  four  of  them  are — are " 

"I  know,"  I  said  wearily — "better  looking  than  I 
am.  Go  ahead." 

"You're  not  at  all  ugly,"  mother  put  in  hastily. 
"A  great  many  people  said  nice  things  about  you 
last  night.  The  only  thing  I  want  to  impress  on 
you  is  that  Madge  will  have  to  come  out  next  year, 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND 57 

and  that  you've  been  reared  with  expensive  tastes." 

"I've  got  brains.  k  Most  of  the  other  eleven 
haven't." 

"Brains  are  a  liability,  not  an  asset." 

"That's  an  exploded  idea,  mother.  The  only 
times  they  are  a  liability  is  when  they  are  ruined  by 
too  much  family  interest." 

"That  sounds  impertinent,"  she  said  coldly. 

"Not  at  all ;  it's  good  business.  If  I'm  to  put  over 
anything  worth  while,  I  shall  have  to  work  along 
my  own  lines.  I  can't  afford  to  have  my  style 
cramped." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  at  that,  for  she  hates 
slang.  But  she  looked  relieved  too.  When  I  think 
of  how  sure  of  myself  I  was  that  day  I  could 
rave !  , 

"Then  you're  not  going  to  waste  any  more  time 
on  Henry?" 

"I  think,"  I  said  reflectively,  "that  I'm  going  to 
use  Henry  quite  a  lot.  But  I  don't  intend  to  marry 
him." 

Yes,  that's  what  I  said.  I  remember  it  perfectly 
well.  I  was  putting  a  dab  of  scent  behind  my  ears 
at  the  time.  I  feel  that  I  shall  never  use  the  stuff 
again. 

Well,  mother  went  out  quite  cheered.  It  was 
the  first  real  mother-and-daughter  talk  we'd  had  for 
a  long  time.  When  she  had  gone  I  went  into  my 


58 AFFINITIES 

bathroom  and  locked  the  door  and  opened  the  win 
dows  and  smoked  two  cigarettes,  thinking  things  out. 

The  family  is  opposed  to  my  smoking,  and  no  one 
knows  except  mother's  maid,  who  fixes  my  hair, 
and  the  gardener.  When  for  the  third  time  he  had 
seen  smoke  coming  out  of  my  bathroom  window, 
and  had  rushed  upstairs  with  a  fire  grenade  and  all 
the  servants  at  his  heels,  I  was  compelled  to  take 
him  into  my  confidence. 

Well,  I  smoked  and  thought  things  out.  I  am  not 
beautiful,  but  I'm  extremely  chic,  and  at  night,  with 
a  touch  of  rouge,  I  do  very  well.  I  have  always 
worn  sophisticated  clothes.  I  thought  they  suited 
my  style.  But  so  did  all  the  others.  If  I  was  to  do 
anything  distinguished  it  would  have  to  be  on  new 
lines. 

"Early  Victorian*?"  I  said  to  myself. 

But  the  idea  of  me  Lydia-languishing,  prunes-and- 
prisming  round  the  place  was  too  much. 

Athletics?  Well,  they  were  not  bad.  There's 
a  lot  of  chance  in  golf,  although  tennis  is  blowzy. 
I  look  well  in  sport  clothes  too.  But  if  a  girl  is  a 
dub  at  a  game  a  man  is  apt  to  tell  her  so,  and  I 
know  my  own  disposition.  If  he  criticised  me,  be 
fore  I  knew  it  I'd  be  swatting  my  prey  with  a  mashie 
or  a  niblick,  and  everything  over.  Three  men, 
mother  had  said.  I  knew  who  they  were.  They  had 
all  sent  me  flowers  and  danced  with  me,  without 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  59 

saying  a  word,  and  then  taken  me  back  to  mother 
and  rushed  for  the  particular  married  woman  they 
were  interested  in. 

Oh,  I'm  not  blind!  All  the  men  I  knew,  old 
enough  to  amount  to  anything,  were  interested  in 
some  married  woman.  I  drive  my  own  car,  and  I 
used  to  meet  them  on  lonely  back  roads,  Lillian 
Marshall  and  Tom  Connor,  Toots  Warrington  and 
Russell  Hill,  and  the  rest  of  them. 

I  ask  you,  what  chance  had  a  debutante  among 
them*?  There  were  two  things  to  decide  that  after 
noon,  the  man  and  the  method.  I  was  out  now.  The 
family  had  agreed  to  let  me  alone.  I  had  a  year 
before  me,  until  Madge  came  out.  And  I  knew  I 
could  count  on  Henry  Baring  to  help  me  all  he 
could.  He  was  a  sort  of  family  friend.  When  he 
couldn't  get  me  he  would  take  Madge  to  kid  picnics, 
and  mother  used  to  call  on  him  to  make  a  fourth 
at  bridge  or  fill  in  at  a  dinner.  You  know  the 
sort. 

He  worked  at  something  or  other,  and  made 
enough  to  keep  him  and  pay  his  club  bills,  and  to 
let  him  send  flowers  to  debutantes,  and  to  set  up  an 
occasional  little  supper  to  pay  his  way  socially.  But 
nobody  ever  thought  of  marrying  him.  He  was  tall 
and  red-headed  and  not  very  handsome.  Have  I 
said  that? 

So  I  counted  on  Henry.    It  makes  me  bitter  even 


60  AFFINITIES 


to  write  it.  His  very  looks  were  solid  and  de 
pendable,  although  I  underestimated  his  hair.  I've 
said  I  had  brains.  Well,  I  had  too  many  brains. 
Mother  was  right — the  world  doesn't  come  to  the 
clever  folks,  it  comes  to  the  stubborn,  obstinate,  one- 
idea-at-a-time  people. 

I'm  going  to  tell  this  thing,  because  a  lot  of  peo 
ple  are  saying  I  threw  away  a  good  thing,  and 
mother 

I  have  a  certain  amount  of  superstition  in  me. 
I  remember,  when  I  was  about  to  be  confirmed  at 
school,  I  was  told  to  open  the  Bible  at  random  and 
take  the  first  verse  my  eyes  fell  on  for  a  sort  of 
motto  through  life.  Mine  was  to  the  effect  that  as 
a  partridge  sits  on  eggs  and  fails  to  hatch  them,  so 
too  the  person  who  gets  riches  without  deserving 
them.  It  rather  bothered  me  at  the  time.  Well,  it 
never  will  again. 

So  I  took  three  cigarettes  and  marked  each  one 
with  the  initials  of  an  eligible.  Then  I  shook  them 
up  in  a  box  and  drew  Russell  Hill.  I  knew  then 
that  I  had  my  work  cut  out  for  me.  Even  with 
Henry's  help  it  was  going  to  be  a  hard  pull.  Rus 
sell  Hill  was  spoiled.  Probably  out  of  the  other 
eleven  at  least  nine  had  Russell  in  the  backs  of  their 
heads.  And  he  knew  every  move  of  the  game. 
They'd  all  been  tried  on  him — golf  and  moonlight 
and  1830  methods  and  pro  and  anti  suffrage  and 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  61 

amateur  theatricals  and  ingenue  technique  and  the 
come-hither  glance.  So  far  they  had  all  failed. 

The  girls  were  coming  in  for  tea  and  to  talk 
things  over,  and  as  I  dressed  I  was  thinking  hard. 
Mother  had  gone  out  for  a  golf  lesson,  so  I  sent 
the  rest  of  my  cigarettes  down  to  the  drawing  room 
and  picked  up  a  book.  I  remember  only  one  line 
of  that  book.  Believe  me,  as  a  matrimonial  text 
it  had  the  partridge  one  going.  The  girl  in  the  story 
had  been  crazy  about  a  man. 

"I  always  had  my  hand  in  his  coat  pocket!"  she 
said. 

Don't  misunderstand,  she  was  not  robbing  him. 
She  slipped  her  hand  into  his  coat  pocket  to  let  him 
know  how  fond  she  was  of  him.  And  after  a  mo 
ment,  she  said,  he  always  put  his  hand  in,  too,  over 
hers.  And  he  ended  her  slave.  He  was  a  very 
sophisticated  man,  up  to  every  move  of  the  game, 
and  he  ended  her  slave! 

But  Russell  would  take  tact.  A  man  likes  to 
be  adored,  but  he  hates  to  look  foolish.  The  first 
thing  was,  of  course,  to  get  his  attention.  I  was 
only  one  of  a  dozen.  True,  he  had  sent  me  flowers, 
but  he  probably  did  what  all  the  others  did — had  a 
standing  order  and  a  box  of  his  cards  at  the  florist's. 
I  wasn't  fooled  for  a  minute.  To  him  I  was  a  flap 
per,  nothing  else.  Whether  flapper  is  a  term  of  re 
proach  or  one  of  tribute  depends  on  whether  the 


62 AFFINITIES 

girl  is  a  debutante  or  in  the  first  line  of  the  chorus 
of  a  musical  show.  Oh,  I  wasn't  very  old,  but  I 
knew  my  way  about. 

Margaret  North  came  first  and  the  rest  trailed 
in  soon  after.  Everybody  talked  about  the  ball,  and 
said  it  had  been  wonderful,  and  I  sat  there  and 
sized  them  up.  I  had  a  fight  on  my  hands,  and  I 
knew  it. 

There  was  a  picture  of  Madge  sitting  round,  and 
Margaret  North  picked  it  up  and  took  it  to  the 
light.  Margaret  is  one  of  the  four  mother  had  so 
delicately  referred  to. 

"You'll  have  to  hurry,  Kit,"  she  said.  "Sister's 
a  raving  beauty." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  observed  casually.  "Beau 
ty's  not  everything. 

The  girl  in  the  book  had  not  been  a  beauty. 

"It's  all  there  is,"  said  Margaret.  "Figure 
doesn't  count  any  more.  Anybody  can  have  a  figure 
who  has  a  decent  dressmaker." 

"How  about  brains'?"  I  asked. 

There  was  a  squeal  at  that. 

"Cut  'em  out,"  said  Ellie  Clavering.  "Hide  'em. 
Disguise  'em.  Brains  are — are  clandestine." 

"Anyhow,"  somebody  put  in,  "Kit  isn't  worrying; 
she's  got  Henry." 

That's  how  they'd  fixed  me.  I  knew  what  it 
meant.  It  was  a  cheap  game,  but  they  were  play- 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  63 

ing  it.  They  were  going  to  tie  me  to  Henry.  They 
would  ask  us  together,  and  put  us  together  at  din 
ners,  and  talk  about  us  together.  In  the  end  every 
body  would  think  of  us  together.  I'd  seen  it  done 
before.  It's  ruined  more  debutantes  than  anything 
else.  They'd  put  me  out  of  the  running  before  I'd 
started. 

I  sat  back  with  my  cup  of  tea  and  listened,  and 
it  made  me  positively  ill.  It  wasn't  that  they  were 
clever.  They  were  just  instinctive.  I  could  have 
screamed.  And  having  disposed  of  me,  having  hand 
cuffed  me  to  Henry  Baring  and  lost  the  key,  so  to 
speak,  they  went  on  to  the  real  subject,  which  was 
Russell. 

Mother  had  said  there  were  three  eligibles.  But 
to  those  little  idiots  round  the  tea  table  there  was 
only  one.  They'd  been  friendly  enough  as  long  as 
Henry  and  I  were  on  the  rack.  But  the  moment 
Russell's  name  was  mentioned  there  was  a  difference. 
They  didn't  talk  so  much  and  they  eyed  each  other 
more.  Ella  Clavering  put  both  lemon  and  cream 
in  her  tea,  and  drank  it  without  noticing.  Somebody 
said  very  impressively  that  she  understood  the  affair 
with  Toots  was  off,  and  that  Russell  had  said,  ac 
cording  to  report,  that  he  was  glad  of  it.  He'd  have 
a  little  time  to  himself  now. 

"That  means,  I  dare  say,"  I  said  languidly,  "that 


64 AFFINITIES 

Russell  is  ready  to  bring  his  warmed-over  affections 
to  some  of  us!" 

There  was  a  sort  of  electric  silence  for  a  minute. 

"It  will  take  a  very  sophisticated  person  to  land 
Russell  after  Toots,"  I  went  on.  "He's  past  the 
ingenue  stage." 

"If  a  girl  is  pretty  she  always  has  a  chance  with 
Russell."  Margaret,  of  course.  She  was  standing 
in  front  of  a  mirror  and  I  had  my  eyes  on  her.  Evi 
dently  what  I  had  said  made  an  impression,  for  she 
cocked  her  hat  down  an  inch  more  over  her  right 
eye  and  watched  to  see  the  effect. 

"You  ought  to  wear  earrings,  dear,"  I  said.  "You 
need  just  that  dash  of  chic." 

Just  for  a  moment  I  could  see  in  every  eye  a  sort 
of  vision  of  Toots  Warrington,  with  the  large  pearls 
she  always  wore  in  her  ears — Toots,  who  had  had 
Russell  tame-catting  for  her  off  and  on  for  years ! 

Oh,  they  fell  for  it  all  right!  I  poured  myself 
another  cup  of  tea  to  hide  the  triumph  in  my  face. 
Little  idiots!  If  he  was  sick  of  Toots  he'd  hate 
everything  that  reminded  him  of  her.  I  could  see 
the  crowd  of  them  swaggering  in  at  the  next  party, 
in  their  best  imitation  of  Toots  Warrington,  with 
eyes  slightly  narrowed,  and  earrings.  And  I  could 
see  Russell's  soul  turn  over  in  revolt  and  go  out  and 
take  a  walk.  I  knew  a  lot  about  men  even  then,  but 
not  enough.  I  know  more  now. 


65 


II 

That  night  Henry  Baring  came  to  call.  Being  a 
sort  of  family  friend  he  had  a  way  of  walking  in  un 
expectedly,  with  a  box  of  candy  for  whoever  saw 
him  first.  If  mother  and  I  were  out,  he  played 
chess  with  father.  If  there  was  no  one  in,  he  was 
quite  likely  to  range  round  the  lower  floor,  and  ask 
the  butler  about  his  family,  and  maybe  read  for  an 
hour  or  so  in  the  library.  The  servants  adored  him, 
but  he  was  matrimonially  impossible. 

That  night  he  came.    I  was  at  home  alone. 

"You  will  take  two  full  days'  rest  after  your 
ball,"  mother  had  said.  "I  have  seen  enough  de 
butantes  looking  ready  for  the  hospital  the  first  week 
they  came  out." 

So  I  was  alone  that  evening,  and  mother  and 
father  had  gone  to  a  dinner.  I  was  sulky,  I  don't 
mind  saying.  At  six  o'clock  a  box  of  flowers  had 
come,  but  they  were  only  from  Henry  and  not  ex 
citing.  "Thought  I'd  send  them  to-day,"  he  wrote 
on  his  card.  "Didn't  like  the  idea  of  my  personal 
offering  nailed  to  the  club  wall." 

About  nine  o'clock  I  put  on  my  silk  dressing  gown 
and  went  down  to  the  library  for  the  book  about  the 
girl  who  always  had  her  hand  in  the  man's  coat 
pocket.  I  had  got  clear  in  when  I  saw  Henry's  red 
head  over  the  top  of  a  deep  chair. 


66 AFFINITIES 

"Come  in !"  he  called.  "I  was  told  there  was  no 
one  at  home,  but  methinks  I  know  the  step  and  the 
rustle." 

"Don't  look  round,"  I  said  sharply.  "I'm  not 
dressed." 

"Can't  you  stay  a  few  minutes?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"If  I  don't  look?" 

Well,  it  seemed  silly  to  run.  I  was  more  covered 
up  than  I'd  been  the  night  before  in  my  ball  gown. 
Besides,  it  had  occurred  to  me  that  Henry  could  be 
useful  if  he  would.  A  sort  of  plan  had  popped  into 
my  head.  Inspiration,  I  called  it  then. 

"Pretty  nice  last  night,  wasn't  it?"  he  asked,  talk 
ing  to  the  fireplace.  "You  looked  some  person,  Kit, 
believe  me." 

"Considering  that  I've  spent  nineteen  years  get 
ting  ready,  it  should  have  gone  off  rather  well." 

"I  suppose  I'll  never  see  you  any  more." 

"This  looks  like  it!    Why?" 

"You'll  be  so  popular." 

"Oh,  that!  I'm  not  sure,  Henry.  I'm  not  beau 
tiful." 

He  jumped  at  that,  and  almost  turned  round. 

"Not  beautiful!"  he  said.  "You're — you're  the 
loveliest  thing  that  ever  lived,  and  you  know  it." 

It  began  to  look  to  me  as  if  he  wouldn't  help  after 
all.  There  was  a  sort  of  huskiness  in  his  voice,  a — 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  67 

Oh,  well,  you  know.  I  began  on  the  plan,  how 
ever. 

"You'll  see  me,  all  right,"  I  said.  'Til  have  other 
friends,  of  course.  I  hope  so  anyhow.  But  when 
one  thinks  who  and  what  they  are " 

"Good  gracious,  Kit!  What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"I'm  young,"  I  said.  "I  know  that.  But  I'm 
not  ignorant.  And  a  really  nice  girl  with 
ideals " 

"I'll  have  to  get  up,"  he  said  suddenly.  "I'll 
stand  with  my  back  to  you,  if  you  insist,  but  I'll 
have  to  get  up.  What's  all  this  about  ideals?" 

"You  know  very  well,"  I  put  in  with  dignity.  "If 
every  time  I  meet  a  nice  man  people  come  to  me 
with  stories  about  him,  or  mother  and  father  warn 
me  against  him,  what  am  I  to  do?" 

"Can't  you  stand  behind  a  chair  and  let  me  face 
you?  This  is  serious." 

"Oh,  turn  round,"  I  said  recklessly.  "If  I  hear 
any  one  coming  I  can  run.  Anyhow,  it  may  be  un 
conventional  but  I'm  fully  clothed." 

"Are  you  being  warned  against  me?"  he  threw 
at  me  like  a  bomb.  "Because,  if — if  you  are,  it's 
absurd  nonsense.  I'm  no  saint,  and  I'd  never  be  fit 
for  you  to —  What  silly  story  have  you  heard,  Kit?" 

He  was  quite  white,  and  his  red  hair  looked  like  a 
conflagration. 

"It's  not  about  you  at  all ;  it's  about  Russell  Hill." 


68 AFFINITIES 

It  took  him  a  moment  to  breathe  normally  again. 

"Oh— Russell !"  he  said.  "Well,  that's  probably 
nonsense  too.  You  don't  mean  to  say  your  people 
object  to  your  knowing  Russell1?" 

"Not  quite  that,"  I  said.  "But  I  can't  have  him 
here,  or  go  round  with  him,  or  anything  of  that 
sort." 

"Do  they  venture  to  give  a  reason*?" 

"Toots  Warrington." 

It's  queer  about  men,  the  way  they  stand  up  for 
each  other.  Henry  knew  as  well  as  he  knew  any 
thing  that  most  of  the  girls  we  both  knew  were 
crazy  about  Russell.  And  if  he  cared  for  me — and 
the  way  he  acted  made  me  suspicious — he  had  a 
good  chance  to  throw  Russell  into  the  discard  that 
night.  But  he  didn't.  I  knew  well  enough  he 
wouldn't. 

"That's  perfect  idiocy,"  he  said  sternly.  "So 
ciety  is  organised  along  certain  lines,  and  maybe  if 
you  and  I  had  anything  to  do  with  it  we'd  change 
things.  But  there  is  no  commandment  or  social  law 
or  anything  else  against  a  man  having  a  married 
woman  for  a  friend." 

"Friend!" 

"Exactly— friend." 

"I  don't  care  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him." 

"You  needn't,  of  course.  But  you  owe  it  to  Rus 
sell  to  give  him  a  chance  to  set  things  straight.  Any- 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  69 

how  he  and  Mrs.  Warrington  are  not  seeing  each 
other  much  any  more.  It's  off." 

"The  very  fact  that  you  say  it  is  'off'  shows  that 
it  was  once  'on.'  " 

He  waved  his  hands  in  perfect  despair.  If  I'd 
rehearsed  him  he  couldn't  have  picked  up  his  cues 
any  better. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  him,"  he  said.  "It's  ridiculous. 
It's— it's  libellous." 

"I  don't  want  him  coming  here  explaining.  I  am 
not  even  interested." 

'"You're  a  perfect  child,  a  stubborn  child!  Your 
mind's  in  pigtails,  like  your  hair."  V 

Yes,  my  hair  was  down.    I  have  rather  nice  hair. 

"If  he  comes  here,"  I  said  with  my  eyes  wide, 
"he  will  have  to  come  when  mother  and  father  are 
out." 

"I'll  bring  him,"  said  Henry  valiantly.  "I'm  not 
going  to  see  him  calumniated,  that's  all."  Then 
something  struck  his  sense  of  humour  and  he 
chuckled.  "It  will  be  a  new  and  valuable  experi 
ence  to  him,"  he  said,  "to  have  to  come  clandes 
tinely.  Do  him  good !" 

I  went  upstairs  then.  It  had  been  a  fair  day's 
work. 

But  it's  hard  to  count  on  a  family.  Mother 
sprained  her  ankle  getting  out  of  the  car  that  night 
and  was  laid  up  for  three  days.  I  chafed  at  first. 


70 AFFINITIES 

Henry  might  change  his  mind  or  one  of  the  eleven 
get  in  some  fine  work.  We  declined  everything  that 
week,  and  I  made  some  experiments  with  my  hair 
and  the  aid  of  mother's  maid.  I  wanted  a  sort  of 
awfully  feminine  method — not  sappy  but  not  at  all 
sophisticated.  Toots  Warrington  is  always  waved 
and  netted,  and  all  the  girls  by  that  time  had  got  ear 
rings  and  were  going  round  waved  and  netted  too. 

I  wanted  to  fix  my  hair  like  a  girl  who  slips  her 
hand  into  a  man's  coat  pocket  because  she  can't 
help  it,  and  then  tries  to  get  it  out,  and  can't  be 
cause  his  hand  has  got  hold  of  it. 

Then  one  night  I  got  it.  Henry  had  dropped  in, 
and  found  mother  with  her  foot  up  and  the  look  of 
a  dyspeptic  martyr  on  her  face,  and  father  with  a 
cold  and  a  thermometer  in  his  mouth. 

"I've  come  to  take  Kit  to  the  movies,"  he  an 
nounced  calmly.  "Far  be  it  from  me  not  to  con 
tribute  to  the  entertainment  of  a  young  lady  who  is 
just  out!" 

"Full  of  gerbs!"  father  grunted,  referring  to  the 
movies  of  course,  not  me.  But  mother  agreed. 

"Do  take  her  out,  Henry,"  she  said.  "She's  been 
on  my  nerves  all  evening." 

So  we  went,  and  there  was  a  girl  in  one  of  the  pic 
tures  who  had  exactly  the  right  hair  arrangement. 
She  had  it  loose  and  wavy  about  her  face,  and  it 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  71 

blew  about  the  way  things  do  blow  in  the  movies, 
and  in  the  back  it  was  a  sort  of  soft  wad. 

It  shows  the  association  of  ideas  that  I  found  my 
hand  in  Henry's  coat  pocket,  and  he  grabbed  it  like 
a  lunatic. 

"You  darling!"  he  said  thickly.  "Don't  do  that 
unless  you  mean  it.  I  can't  stand  it." 

I  had  to  be  very  cool  on  the  way  home  in  the 
motor  or  he  would  have  kissed  me. 

Mother  and  I  went  to  a  reception  on  the  following 
Tuesday,  and  I  wondered  if  mother  noticed.  She 
did.  Coming  home  in  the  motor  she  turned  and 
stared  at  me. 

"Thank  heaven,  Kit,"  she  said,  "you  still  look 
like  a  young  girl.  All  at  once  Ellie  and  the  others 
look  like  married  women.  Earrings!  It's  absurd. 
And  such  earrings !  I  am  quite  sure,"  she  went  on, 
eying  me,  "that  some  of  them  had  been  smoking. 
I  got  an  unmistakable  whiff  of  it  when  I  was  talk 
ing  with  Bessie  Willing." 

Well,  I  had  rinsed  my  mouth  with  mouth  wash 
and  dabbed  my  lips  with  cologne,  so  she  got  noth 
ing  from  me.  But  I  tasted  like  a  drug  store. 

I  am  not  smoking  now.  I  am  not  doing  much  of 
anything.  I — but  I'm  coming  to  that. 

I'm  no  hypocrite.  I'd  been  raised  for  one  pur 
pose,  and  that  was  to  marry  well.  If  I  did  it  in  my 
own  way,  and  you  think  my  way  not  exactly  ethical, 


72  AFFINITIES 

I  can't  help  it.  This  thing  of  sitting  back  and  let 
ting  somebody  find  you  and  propose  to  you  is  ridicu 
lous.  There  is  only  one  life,  and  we  have  to  make 
the  best  we  can  of  it. 

Ethical!  Don't  girls  always  have  the  worst  of 
it  anyhow*?  They  can't  go  and  ask  the  man.  They 
have  to  lie  in  wait  and  plan  and  scheme,  or  get  left 
and  have  their  younger  sisters  come  out  and  crowd 
them,  and  at  twenty-five  or  so  begin  to  regard  any 
man  at  all  as  a  prospect.  Maybe  my  methods  sound 
a  bit  crude,  but  compared  with  the  average  girl  I 
know,  I  was  delicate.  I  didn't  play  up  my  attrac 
tions,  at  least  not  more  than  was  necessary.  I  was 
using  my  mind,  not  my  body. 

Ill 

On  Tuesday  night  I  was  going  to  a  dance.  Mother 
and  father  were  dining  out  and  were  to  meet  me 
later,  so  I  was  free  until  ten  o'clock.  That  night 
Henry  brought  Russell  Hill. 

I  kept  them  waiting  a  few  minutes,  and  came 
down  ready  for  the  car.  At  the  last  minute  I  pulled 
my  hair  a  bit  loose  over  my  face,  and  the  effect  was 
exactly  right. 

Henry  was  horribly  uncomfortable,  and  left  in 
a  few  minutes.  He  was  going  with  some  people  to 
the  dance,  and  would  see  us  later.  About  all  he 
said  was  with  his  usual  tact. 


73 


"You  two  ought  to  get  together,"  he  said. 
"There's  a  lot  too  much  being  whispered  these  days, 
and  not  enough  talking  out  loud." 

With  that  he  went,  and  we  two  were  left  facing 
each  other. 

"This  is  one  of  Henry's  inspirations,  Miss  Kath- 
erine,"  Russell  said.  "I — I  don't  usually  haye  to 
wait  until  the  family  is  out  before  I  make  a  call." 

"Families  are  queer,"  I  said  non-committally. 
There  was  a  window  open  and  I  stood  near  it,  un 
der  a  pink  lamp,  and  let  my  hair  blow  about. 

"Are  we  going  to  sit  down,  or  am  I  to  be  ban 
ished  as  soon  as  I've  explained  that  I  am  a  safe 
companion  for  a  debutante?" 

He  was  plainly  laughing  at  me,  although  he  was 
uncomfortable  too.  And  I  have  some  spirit  left. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  giving  me  credit  for  too 
much  interest,"  I  said.  "This  is  Henry's  idea,  you 
know.  You  needn't  defend  yourself  to  me.  You 
look — entirely  safe." 

He  hated  that.  No  man  likes  to  look  entirely 
safe.  He  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  half 
closed  his  eyes. 

"Humph!"  he  said.  "Then  I  gather  that  this 
whole  meeting  is  a  mistake.  I'm  respectable  enough 
to  be  uninteresting,  and  the  ban  your  people  have 
placed  on  me  doesn't  particularly  concern  you!" 

'That's  not  quite  true,"  I  said  slowly.     "I — if  I 


74 AFFINITIES 

ever  got  a  chance  to  know  you  really  well,  I'm  sure 
we'd  be — but  I'll  never  get  a  chance,  you  know." 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  broke  out,  "I'd  like  to  know 
just  what  your  people  have  heard !  But  that  doesn't 
matter.  What  really  matters" — he  had  hardly 
taken  his  eyes  off  me — "what  really  matters  is  that 
I  am  going  to  see  you  again.  Often!" 

"It's  impossible." 

"Rot!  We're  always  going  to  the  same  places. 
Am  I  absolutely  warned  off?" 

"You're  not.    But  I  am." 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  Half 
an  hour  before  he  had  never  given  me  a  thought. 
Henry,  I  knew,  had  lugged  him  there  by  sheer  force 
and  a  misplaced  sense  of  justice.  And  now  he  was 
pacing  about  in  a  rage ! 

He  stopped  rather  near  me. 

"If  it's  Mrs.  Warrington  all  the  fuss  is  about,  it's 
imbecile,"  he  said.  "In  the  first  place,  there  never 
was  anything  to  it.  In  the  second  place,  it's  all 
over  anyhow." 

"I  don't  know  what  the  fuss  is  about." 

"You  know  the  whole  thing.  Don't  pretend  you 
don't.  You've  got  the  face  of  a  little  saint,  with 
all  that  fluffy  hair,  but  your  eyes  don't  belong  to 
the  rest,  young  lady.  Are  you  going  to  dance  with 
me  to-night?" 

"I'm  afraid  not." 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  75 

"Well,  you'll  give  me  a  little  time,  won't  you1? 
I  suppose  we  can  sit  in  a  closet  and  talk,  or  hide  on 
a  veranda." 

"It's — it's  rather  sneaking,  isn't  it?" 

"That  doesn't  hurt  it  any  for  me." 

So  I  promised,  and,  the  car  being  announced,  he 
put  my  wrap  round  my  shoulders. 

"Stunning  hair  you've  got,"  he  said  from  behind 
me.  "Thank  heaven  for  hair  that  isn't  marceled 
and  glued  up  in  a  net !" 

I  held  out  my  hand  in  the  hall,  and  he  took  it. 

"I'm  not  such  a  bad  lot  after  all,  am  I?"  he  de 
manded. 

With  my  best  spontaneous  gesture  I  put  my  free 
hand  over  his  as  it  held  mine. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  so  terribly  sorry,  if  I've  misunder 
stood,"  I  said  earnestly. 

Wallace  had  gone  to  the  outer  door.  Russell  Hill 
stooped  over  and  kissed  my  hand. 

Well,  it  was  working.  An  hour  before  I  was  one 
of  what  I'd  heard  he  had  called  "the  dolly  dozen." 
Now,  by  merely  letting  him  understand  that  he 
couldn't  have  what  he'd  never  wanted,  he  was  eager. 

We  sat  out  one  dance  under  the  stairs,  and  an 
intermission  in  a  pantry  while  the  musicians  who 
had  been  stationed  there  were  getting  their  supper. 
He  tried  to  hold  my  hand  and  I  drew  it  away — not 
too  fast,  but  so  he  could  understand  the  struggle  I 


76 AFFINITIES 

was  having  between  duty  and  inclination.  And  we 
talked  about  love. 

I  said  I  liked  to  play  round  with  men  and  have  a 
good  time  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  that  I 
thought  I  was  naturally  cold. 

"You  cold?"  he  said.  "It's  only  that  the  right 
man  has  not  come  along." 

"I've  known  a  good  many.  A  good  many  have — ; 
have " 

"Cared  for  you"?  Of  course.  They're  not  fools 
or  blind.  Look  here,  I'm  going  to  ring  you  up  now 
and  then." 

"I  think  you'd  better  not." 

"If  I'm  not  to  see  you  and  not  to  telephone,  how's 
this  friendship  of  ours  to  get  on*?" 

"People  who  are  real  friends  don't  need  to  see 
each  other." 

"That's  the  first  real  debutante  speech  you've 
made  to-night.  Now,  see  here,  I'm  going  to  see  you 
again,  and  often.  And  I'm  going  to  ring  you  up. 
What's  your  tailor's  name?" 

I  told  him,  and  he  put  it  down  on  his  dance  card. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Herschenrother  is  now  my 
middle  name,  and  if  it's  not  convenient  to  talk,  you 
can  give  me  the  high  sign." 

Toots  Warrington  came  along  just  then  with  an 
army  officer  she'd  taken  on.  They  got  clear  round 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  77 

the  palms  and  into  the  pantry  before  they  saw  us, 
and  her  face  was  funny. 

Mother  and  I  had  another  heart-to-heart  talk  that 
night  on  the  way  home.  Father  had  gone  a  couple 
of  hours  earlier  and  we  had  the  car  to  ourselves. 
Mother  was  tired  and  irritable. 

"It  seemed  to  me,  Kit,"  she  observed,  "that  you 
danced  with  every  hopeless  ineligible  there.  You 
danced  three  times  with  Henry." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  mother,"  I  snapped,  "let  poor 
Henry  alone.  Henry  is  the  most  useful  person  I 
know." 

"You  can't  play  with  red-headed  people  and  not 
get  burned,"  mother  said  with  unconscious  humour. 
"He's  very  fond  of  you,  Kit.  I  watched  him  to 
night." 

"The  fonder  the  better,"  I  said  flippantly.  Yes, 
that's  what  I  said.  When  I  look  back  on  that  eve 
ning  and  think  how  little  Henry  entered  into  my 
plans,  and  the  rest  of  it,  it  makes  me  cold. 

"I  want  you  to  do  one  thing — just  one,  mother: 
I  want  you  to  be  very  cool  to  Russell  Hill." 

"Cool!" 

"And  I  want  you  to  forbid  me  to  see  him." 

"I'm  not  insane,  Katherine." 

"Listen,  mother,"  I  said  desperately.  "All  his 
life  Russell  Hill  has  had  everything  he  wanted. 
He's  had  so  much  that — that  he's  got  a  sort  of  so- 


78 AFFINITIES 

cial  indigestion.  The  only  things  he  wants  now  are 
the  things  he  can't  have.  So  he  can't  have  me." 

Mother's  not  very  subtle.  And  she  was  alarmed. 
I  can  still  see  her  trying  to  readjust  her  ideas,  and 
getting  tied  up  in  them,  and  coming  a  mental  crop 
per,  so  to  speak. 

"If  he  can't  have  me  he'll  want  me." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  it.    He " 

"Mother,"  I  said  in  despair,  "you've  been  mar 
ried  for  twenty  years,  and  you  know  less  about  men 
in  a  month  than  I  do  in  a  minute.  Please  forbid 
him  the  house — not  in  so  many  words,  but  act  it." 

"Why?"  she  said  feebly. 

"Anything  you  can  think  of — Toots  Warrington 
will  do." 

She  got  out  her  salts  and  held  them  to  her  nose. 

"I  feel  as  though  I'm  losing  my  mind,"  she  said 
at  last.  "But  if  you're  set  on  it " 

That  was  all  until  we  got  home.  Then  on  the 
stairs  I  thought  of  something. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said.  "No  matter  what  I  am  do 
ing,  mother,  if  Herschenrother  the  tailor  calls  up  I 
want  to  go  to  the  telephone." 

I  can  still  see  her  staring  after  me  with  her  mouth 
open  as  I  went  up  the  stairs. 

Herschenrother  called  me  up  the  next  morning, 
and  asked  me  how  I  was,  and  how  the  dragons  were, 
and  if  there  was  any  chance  of  my  walking  in  the 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  79 

park  at  five  o'clock.  I  said  there  was,  and  called 
up  Henry  and  asked  him  to  walk  with  me. 

"I  should  say  so,"  he  said.  "You've  only  got  to 
ask  me,  Kit.  I'm  always  ready  to  hang  round." 

There  was  rather  a  bad  half  hour  in  the  park,  and 
for  a  time  I  felt  that  Henry  had  been  a  wrong  move. 
But,  as  it  turned  out  he  hadn't,  for  Russell  took 
advantage  of  somebody's  signalling  to  Henry  from 
a  machine  to  say: 

"Just  a  bit  afraid  of  me  still,  aren't  you?" 

"Why?" 

"You  brought  Henry.  I  know  the  signs.  You 
asked  him,  and  he's  so  set  up  about  it  that  he's  walk 
ing  on  clouds." 

"I  am  afraid." 

"Of  me?' 

"Of  myself." 

He  caught  my  arm  as  he  helped  me  across  a  pud 
dle,  and  squeezed  it. 

"Good  girl!"  he  said. 

And  later  on,  when  Henry  was  called  again — 
he's  terribly  popular,  Henry  is — he  had  another 
chance. 

"I'm  going  to  see  you  alone  if  I  have  to  steal  you," 
he  said. 

Herschenrother  called  up  again  the  next  day,  and 
Madge,  who  had  come  home  for  the  Christmas  holi 
days,  called  me. 


80 AFFINITIES 

"Gee,  Kit,"  she  said,  "you  must  be  getting  a 
trousseau.  That  tailor's  always  on  the  phone." 

I  went. 

"Hello,"  said  Russell's  voice,  "how  about  that 
fitting?" 

"I  don't  know.    I'm  horribly  busy  to-day." 

"It's  very  important.  I — I  can't  go  ahead  with 
out  it." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  I  said.  Madge  was  listening  and 
I  had  to  be  careful.  "I  must  have  the  suit." 

"You  can  have  anything  I've  got.  How  about 
the  Art  Gallery?  Art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting. 
Nobody  goes  there." 

"Very  well,  four  o'clock,"  I  replied,  and  rang  off. 

"Rather  a  nice  voice,"  Madge  said,  eying  me. 
"Think  I'll  go  along,  Kit.  I've  been  shut  up  in 
school  until  the  mere  thought  of  even  a  good-look 
ing  tailor  makes  me  thrill." 

She  was  so  insistent  that  I  had  to  go  to  mother 
finally,  and  mother  told  her  she  would  have  to  prac 
tise.  She  was  furious.  Really,  mother  turned  out 
to  be  a  most  understanding  person.  I  got  to  be 
quite  fond  of  her.  We  had  a  chat  that  afternoon 
that  brought  us  closer  together  than  ever. 

"Things  are  doing  pretty  well,  mother,"  I  said 
when  she'd  finished  Madge. 

"He  must  be  interested  when  he  would  take  that 
absurd  name." 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  81 

"And  the  Art  Gallery!  I  dare  say  he  has  never 
voluntarily  been  inside  of  one  in  his  life." 

"Kit,"  mother  said,  "what  about  your  father?" 

"Haven't  you  told  him?" 

"No;  he  wouldn't  understand." 

Of  course  not.  I  knew  men  well  enough  for 
that.  They  believe  that  life  and  marriage  arrange 
themselves.  That  it's  all  a  sort  of  combination  of 
Providence  and  chance.  Predestination  plus  oppor 
tunity  ! 

"Can't  you  tell  him  you've  heard  something  about 
Russell,  and  that  he'd  better  be  cool  to  him*?" 

"And  have  him  turn  the  man  down  if  it  really 
comes  to  a  proposal!" 

"That  won't  matter,"  I  told  her.  "We'll  prob 
ably  elope  anyhow." 

Mother  opposed  that  vigorously.  She  said  that 
no  matter  how  good  a  match  it  was,  there  was  al 
ways  something  queer  about  an  elopement.  And 
anyhow  she'd  been  giving  wedding  gifts  for  years 
and  it  was  time  something  came  in  instead  of  going 
out.  It  was  the  only  point  we  differed  on. 

Well,  father  did  his  best  to  queer  things  that  very 
day.  All  the  way  through  I  played  in  hard  luck. 
Just  when  things  were  going  right  something  hap 
pened. 

I  met  Russell  at  the  Art  Gallery.  It  was  a  cold 
day,  but  I  left  my  muff  at  home.  It  was 


82 AFFINITIES 

about  time  for  the  coat-pocket  business.  I  couldn't 
afford  to  wait,  for  one  or  two  of  the  girls  were  wear 
ing  their  hair  like  mine,  and  I'd  heard  that  Toots 
Warrington  had  gone  to  Russell  and  asked  him  how 
he  liked  kindergartening.  Bessie  Willing,  who  told 
me,  said  that  Russell's  reply  was: 

"It's  rather  pleasant.  I'm  reversing  things.  In- 
ftead  of  going  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  I'm  go 
ing  from  the  grave  to  the  cradle." 

I  don't  believe  he  said  it.  In  the  first  place,  he 
is  too  polite.  In  the  second  place,  he  is  too  stupid. 
But  as  Toots  is  not  young  he  may  have  thought  of  it. 

He  was  waiting  near  a  heater,  and  we  sat  down 
together.  I  shivered. 

"Cold,  honey?"  he  asked. 

"Hands  are  cold.  Do  you  mind  if  I  put  one  in 
your  coat  pocket?" 

Did  he  mind?  He  did  not.  He  was  very  polite 
at  first  and  emptied  the  pocket  of  various  things,  in 
cluding  a  letter  which  he  mentioned  casually  was  a 
bill.  But  after  a  moment  he  slid  his  hand  in  on 
top  of  mine. 

"You're  a  wonderful  young  person,"  he  said,  "and 
you've  got  me  going." 

Then  he  squeezed  the  hand  until  it  hurt.  Sud 
denly  he  looked  up. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  said.     "There's  Henry!" 

Of  course  it  was  Henry.    He  had  brought  a  cata- 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  83 

logue  and  was  going  painstakingly  from  one  picture 
to  another.  He  did  not  see  us  at  first,  and  we  had 
time  to  stand  up  and  be  looking  at  a  landscape  when 
he  got  to  us.  He  looked  moderately  surprised  and 
waited  to  mark  something  in  the  catalogue  before 
he  joined  us. 

"Bully  show,  isn't  it?"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Never 
saw  so  many  good  'uns.  Well,  what  are  you  chil 
dren  up  to?" 

"Dropped  in  to  get  warm,"  said  Russell.  And 
I  was  going  to  add  something,  but  Henry's  interest 
in  us  had  passed  evidently.  He  marked  another 
cross  in  the  catalogue  and  went  on,  with  the  light 
shining  on  his  red  hair  and  his  soul  clearly  as  up 
lifted  as  his  chin. 

"You  needn't  worry  about  Henry,"  I  said.  "He's 
a  friend  of  the  family,  and  I'll  just  call  him  up  and 
tell  him  not  to  say  anything." 

"I  used  to  think  he  was  fond  of  you." 

"That's  all  over,"  I  said  casually.  "It  was  just 
one  of  the  things  that  comes  and  goes.  Like  this 
little — acquaintance  of  ours." 

"What  do  you  mean,  goes?"  he  demanded  almost 
fiercely. 

"They  always  do,  don't  they?  Awfully  pleasant 
things  don't  last.  And  we  can't  go  on  meeting  in 
definitely.  Some  one  will  tell  father,  and  then  where 
will  I  be?" 


84 AFFINITIES 

That  was  a  wrong  move  about  father. 

"That  reminds  me,"  he  said.  "Are  you  sure  your 
father  dislikes  me  such  a  lot1?" 

"Don't  let's  talk  about  it,"  I  said,  and  closed  my 
eyes. 

"Because  I  met  him  to-day,  and  he  nearly  fell  on 
my  neck  and  hugged  me." 

Can  you  beat  that*?    I  was  stunned. 

"The  more  he  detests  people,"  I  managed  finally, 
"the  more  polite  he  is." 

Then  I  took  off  my  gloves  and  fell  to  rubbing 
the  fingers  of  my  left  hand.  And  he  moved  round 
and  put  it  in  the  other  coat  pocket  without  a  word, 
with  his  hand  over  it,  and  the  danger  was  past, 
for  the  time  anyhow. 

Mother  came  round  that  evening  about  the  elope 
ment. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Katherine,"  she  said.  "A 
lot  of  people  will  send  things  when  the  announce 
ment  cards  go  out.  And  Russell  can  afford  to  buy 
you  anything  you  want  anyhow." 

Madge  was  a  nuisance  all  that  week.  She  was 
always  at  the  telephone  first  when  it  rang,  and  I 
did  not  like  her  tone  when  she  said  it  was  Herschen- 
rother  again.  Once  I  could  have  sworn  that  I  saw 
her  following  me,  but  she  ducked  into  a  shop  when 
I  turned  round. 

She  had  transferred  her  affections  to  Henry,  and 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  85 

he  took  her  to  a  cotillon  or  two  for  the  school  set, 
and  played  round  with  the  youngsters  generally,  and 
showed  her  a  sweet  time,  as  she  said. 

But  once  when  mother  and  I  had  been  shut  in  my 
room,  going  over  my  clothes  and  making  notes  of 
what  I  would  take  with  me,  if  the  thing  came  to  an 
elopement — I  was  pretty  sure  by  that  time,  and  we 
planned  a  sort  of  week-end  outfit  without  riding 
things — I  opened  the  door  suddenly,  and  Madge  was 
just  outside. 

Well,  we  got  her  back  to  school  finally,  and 
Henry  took  her  to  the  train.  I  remember  mother's 
watching  them  as  they  got  into  the  car  together. 

"That  wouldn't  be  so  bad  for  Madge,"  she  said 
reflectively.  "She  is  bound  to  marry  badly  anyhow, 
she's  so  impulsive,  and  Henry  would  be  a  good 
counterweight.  He  is  very  dependable." 

"She  would  make  him  most  unhappy,"  I  said. 
"Probably  Henry  would  be  all  right  for  Madge,  but 
how  about  Madge  for  Henry?" 

Mother  looked  at  me  and  said  nothing. 

Russell  proposed  at  the  end  of  the  next  week, 
and  I  refused.  He  proposed  in  a  movie.  We'd  had 
to  give  up  the  Art  Gallery  because  Henry  was  al 
ways  taking  people  through  it.  He  took  Toots  one 
afternoon,  and  that  finished  us. 

There  was  a  little  talk  that  Henry  and  Toots 
were  getting  rather  thick.  The  army  man's  leave 


86 AFFINITIES 

was  up,  and  she  had  to  have  somebody.  There  was 
probably  something  to  it.  We  saw  them  in  the 
park  one  afternoon  sitting  on  a  bench,  and  I 
could  have  sworn  she  had  her  hand  in  his  coat 
pocket ! 

Well,  I  refused  Russell. 

"Why?"  he  said.  "You're  crazy  about  me,  and 
you  know  it." 

"I'm  not  going  to  marry  a  past,"  I  said.  "You'd 
make  me  horribly  unhappy." 

"I'd  never  bore  you,  that's  one  thing." 

"No,  but  you  might  find  me  dull." 

"Dull !  Darling  girl,  I've  never  had  as  interest 
ing  a  month  in  my  life." 

I  said  nothing.    After  a  minute : 

"Do  you  remember  the  first  night  we  really  met?" 

"In  the  pantry.    Yes." 

"Do  you  remember  what  you  said  about  being 
cold?  And  I  told  you  it  was  a  question  of  the  right 
man?" 

I  remembered. 

"Well,  I'm  the  man,"  he  said  triumphantly. 
"Don't  fool  yourself — that  little  hand  of  yours  slips 
into  my  coat  pocket  as  if  it  belonged  there.  And  it 
does." 

He  pulled  it  out  and  kissed  it.  Luckily  the  the 
atre  was  dark. 

Two  days  later  I  consented  to  elope  with  him. 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  87 

Mother  was  quite  delirious  when  I  told  her.  She 
came  over  and  kissed  my  cheek. 

"You've  never  disappointed  me,  Kit,  never,"  she 
said.  "If  only  Madge  would  do  as  well." 

She  sighed. 

"Madge  will  probably  marry  for  love,  and  be 
happy,"  I  snapped.  It  was  a  silly  speech.  I  haven't 
an  idea  why  I  made  it. 

"And  shabby,"  said  mother. 

I  turned  on  her  sharply.  The  strain  of  the  last 
month  was  over,  and  I  dare  say  I  went  to  pieces. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  be  satisfied,"  I  cried. 
"You're  not  going  to  marry  Russell  Hill,  and  have 
him  call  you  'girlie,'  and  see  his  hat  move  every  time 
he  raises  his  eyebrows.  I  am." 

She  went  out  very  stiffly,  and  sent  her  maid  in 
with  hot  tea. 

I  was  out  at  a  theatre  party  that  night,  and 
mother  was  in  my  room  when  I  got  back. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Katherine,"  she  said,  "I've 
been  uneasy  all  evening." 

"If  you  mean  about  what  I  said  this  afternoon, 
please  forget  it,  mother.  I  was  tired  and  nervous. 
I  didn't  mean  it." 

"Not  that.  I  don't  want  any  mistake  about  this 
elopement.  Now  and  then  those  things  have  a  way 
of  going  wrong.  Quite  often  there  is  trouble  about  a 
license  or  a  minister." 


88 AFFINITIES 

"Send  father  ahead,"  I  said  flippantly. 

"Not  father.  But  some  one  really  ought  to  look 
after  things.  Russell  is  not  the  sort  to  arrange  any 
thing  in  advance.  I  thought  perhaps  Henry — " 

"Henry !" 

"He  is  reliable,"  said  mother.  "And  he  has  your 
well-being  at  heart.  He  is  more  like  a  brother  than 
a  good  many  brothers  I  know." 

I  could  scream  my  head  off  when  I  think  of  it 
now.  For  we  fixed  on  Henry,  and  I  telephoned  him. 
to  come  round  to  dinner.  He  seemed  rather  sur 
prised  when  he  heard  my  voice. 

"Honestly,  Kit,"  he  said,  "do  you  want  me?" 

"I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"Then  I'll  come.     That's  all  that's  necessary." 

But  it  wasn't  as  easy  as  it  had  promised  after  all. 
There's  something  so  downright  about  Henry.  He 
was  standing  in  front  of  the  library  fire  after  dinner 
when  I  told  him. 

"Henry,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  to  be  married." 

He  did  not  say  anything  at  first.    Then: 

"Well?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  know  to  whom?" 

"Yes." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  say  anything?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  can  say,"  he  said  very 
slowly  and  carefully.  "If  each  of  you  cares  a  lot, 
that's  all  there  is  to  it,  isn't  it?  The  point  is,  of 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  89 

course,  why  you  are  doing  it.  If  it's  to  cut  out  some 
body  else,  or  to  get  money  or  anything  like  that,  I'm 
not  going  to  wish  you  happiness,  because  you  won't 
deserve  it.  If  you're  in  love  with  him,  that's  dif 
ferent." 

Did  you  ever  try  to  tell  a  lie  to  a  red-headed  young 
man  with  blue  eyes'?  It's  extremely  difficult. 

"I'm  not  in  love  with  him,  Henry,"  I  said.  I 
was  astounded  to  hear  myself  saying  it. 

"Then  you're  giving  him  a  crooked  deal." 

"He's  not  in  love  with  me  either.  So  that's 
even." 

"Then  why " 

"Because  he  thinks  he  can't  have  me,"  I  said. 
"I'm  marrying  him  because  he's  the  most  marriage 
able  man  I  know,  and  I  have  to  marry  money.  I've 
been  raised  for  that.  And  he's  marrying  me  because 
I'm  the  only  girl  whose  people  didn't  fling  her  at 
him." 

"Then  I  wish  you  joy  of  each  other!"  he  said 
hoarsely,  and  slammed  out  of  the  room  and  out  of 
the  house. 

I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  what  came  over  me 
that  night.  I  went  upstairs  and  cried  my  eyes  out. 

A  few  days  later,  after  a  round  of  luncheons,  din 
ners  and  dances  until  I  was  half  dead,  I  had  a  free 
evening.  The  elopement  had  been  set  for  Friday, 
and  it  was  Wednesday.  Mother  and  father  were 


90  AFFINITIES 

out,  and  I  went  downstairs  for  a  book.  I  had  got 
it  and  was  just  going  out  when  I  saw  Henry's  red 
head  over  the  back  of  the  leather  chair  by  the  fire. 

I  went  over.  He  was  not  reading.  He  was  just 
sitting,  his  long  legs  stretched  out  in  front  of  him. 

"Hello,  Kit,"  he  said  calmly.  "I  knew  this  was 
an  off  night.  Sit  down." 

I  sat  down,  rather  suspicious  of  his  manner. 
Henry  can't  dissemble. 

"About  the  other  night,"  he  said,  "I  was  taken  by 
surprise.  Just  forget  it,  Kit.  Now,  when  are  you 
going  to  pull  this  thing  off?" 

I  told  him,  and  where. 

"Russell  made  any  arrangements?" 

"I  haven't  asked." 

"Probably  not.  He'll  expect  to  get  out  of  the 
train  and  find  a  license  and  a  preacher  on  the  plat 
form.  I'd  better  be  best  man,  and  go  down  there 
a  day  before  to  fix  things." 

Well,  it  wasn't  flattering  to  see  him  so  eager  to 
get  me  married.  There  had  been  a  time  when  I 
thought —  However — 

"Oh!"  I  said. 

"Better  do  it  right  while  you're  about  it,"  he 
said.  "You  might  give  me  one  of  your  rings,  and 
I'll  order  a  wedding  ring.  Platinum  or  gold*?" 

"Platinum,"  I  said  feebly. 

"Anything  inside?" 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  91 

"The — the  date,  I  suppose." 

"No  initials  or  anything  like  that?" 

I  roused  from  a  sort  of  stupor  of  astonishment. 

"I  like  a  very  narrow  ring,"  I  said.  "There  won't 
be  room  for  much  inside.  The  date  will  do.  But 
I'm  sure  that  Russell " 

"All  right  if  he  does.  Perhaps  I'd  better  not  put 
in  the  date.  Then,  if  he  takes  one  along,  I  can  re 
turn  this  and  have  it  credited  to  him." 

"You're  very  thoughtful." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said  with  the  first  atom  of  feel 
ing  he'd  shown.  "I  don't  approve  of  anything  about 
this  business;  but  if  it's  going  to  happen,  it's  going 
to  happen  right !" 

He  got  up  and  stood  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"The  thing  to  be  sure  of,  Kit,"  he  said  soberly, 
"is  that  you  don't  love  any  one  else.  It's  bad 
enough  as  it  is,  but  that  would  be  worse." 

"I  wouldn't  dare  to  be  in  love  with  any  one  who 
wasn't  eligible,"  I  said,  not  looking  at  him.  "I've 
been  raised  for  just  what  I'm  doing.  I'm  fulfilling 
my  destiny." 

"There's  nobody  else,  then?" 

"Who  could  there  be?" 

"That's  twice  I've  asked  you  a  perfectly  simple 
question,  Kit,  and  you  have  evaded  it.  The  plain 
truth,  of  course,  is  that  you  are  in  love,  absolutely 
single-heartedly  in  love,  but  not  with  Russell." 


92  AFFINITIES 

"Then  who*?"  I  demanded  sharply. 
"With  yourself,"  he  said,  and  picked  up  his  hat 
and  went  out. 


IV 


Russell  and  I  eloped  on  a  Friday  morning. 
Mother  and  I  packed  my  dressing  case  and  a  bag, 
and  I  gave  her  an  itemized  list  of  what  was  to  be 
sent  on  in  my  trunk  when  I  wired  for  it.  She  was 
greatly  relieved  to  know  that  Henry  was  looking 
after  things,  especially  the  ring. 

"I  do  hope  he  gets  a  narrow  one,"  she  said. 
"Wedding  rings  are  nonsense  at  any  time.  You 
can  never  wear  other  rings  with  them.  But  if  it  is 
platinum  you  can  have  it  set  with  diamonds  later 
on." 

I  think  she  was  disappointed  when  I  refused  to 
leave  a  note  on  my  dressing  table  for  her. 

"That's  out  of  date,  mother,"  I  said.  "You 
needn't  know  anything  until  you  get  my  wire  that 
it's  over.  Then  you  can  call  up  the  newspapers  and 
deny  it.  That's  the  best  way  to  let  them  know." 

Then  she  went  out,  per  agreement,  after  kissing 
me  good-by,  and  I  called  a  taxicab  and  eloped. 

Did  you  ever  have  a  day  when  things  went  wrong 
with  you  and  when  you  knew  that  the  fault  was 
somewhere  in  you  ?  Well,  that  was  that  sort  of  day. 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  93 

The  minute  I  was  in  the  taxicab  I  was  uncomfor 
table.  All  at  once  I  didn't  want  to  be  married.  I 
hoped  Russell  would  miss  the  train,  and  I  could  go 
back  home  and  be  a  spinster  lady  and  be  on  com 
mittees. 

But  he  did  not  miss  the  train.  He  was  there, 
waiting.  He  had  on  a  very  ugly  necktie  and  an 
English  ulster  that  made  his  chest  dish  in,  although 
he  has  a  good  figure. 

"Hello,  girlie,"  he  said.  "Stuff  all  here?  Any 
excitement  at  home1?  No*?  Nice  work." 

My  lips  felt  stiff. 

"Train's  waiting,"  he  said.  "What  do  you  think 
of  Henry1?  Big  lift,  that  is.  I've  never  been  mar 
ried  before.  I'm  fairly  twittering." 

We  got  into  the  train.  There  was  no  Pullman. 
Not  that  it  mattered,  but  it  helped  to  upset  me.  I 
hated  eloping  in  a  day  coach.  And  a  woman  with 
a  market  basket  sat  across  the  aisle,  and  the  legs  of 
a  chicken  stuck  out. 

Russell  squeezed  into  the  seat  beside  me. 

"Jove,  this  is  great !"  he  said.  "Aren't  you  going 
to  put  your  hand  in  my  coat  pocket,  honey?" 

Quite  suddenly  I  said: 

"I  don't  want  to." 

He  drew  away  a  trifle. 

"You're  nervous,"  he  said.  "So  am  I,  for  that 
matter.  D'you  mind  if  I  go  and  smoke*?" 


94 AFFINITIES 

I  didn't  mind.  I  thought  if  I  had  to  see  that 
ulster  dishing  in  and  that  tie  another  minute  I'd  go 
crazy. 

I  grew  calmer  when  he  had  gone.  Here  was  the 
thing  I  had  worked  so  hard  for,  mine  at  last.  I 
thought  of  Toots,  and  her  face  when  she  saw  the 
papers.  I  thought  of  Ellie  Clavering  and  Bessie 
Willing  and  Margaret  North  and  the  others,  with 
their  earrings  and  the  imitation  of  Toots  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  I  felt  rather  better.  When  Russell 
came  back  I  could  even  smile  at  him. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  a  cigarette,"  I  said. 

He  turned  and  put  a  hand  over  mine. 

"You're  going  to  cut  that  out,  you  know,  girlie," 
he  said.  "I  can't  have  my  wife  smoking." 

Yes,  that's  what  he  said.  For  ten  years  he'd  sent 
girls  cigarettes  and  offered  them  cigarettes  and  sat 
with  them  in  comers  while  they  smoked  cigarettes. 
But  he  didn't  want  his  wife  smoking.  Wasn't  it 
typical  ? 

Oh,  well,  I  didn't  care.  I'd  do  as  I  liked  once  we 
were  married.  Then  about  half  way,  without  the 
slightest  warning,  I  knew  I  couldn't  marry  him. 
Marry  him !  Why,  I  didn't  even  like  him.  And  the 
way  he  made  me  sit  with  my  hand  in  his  coat  pocket 
was  sickening. 

"I  don't  think  I'll  marry  you  after  all,"  I  said. 

"Eh?    What?" 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  95 

"I  said  I've  changed  my  mind.    I  won't  do  it." 

"I  haven't  changed  mine/' 

"I'm  not  really  in  love  with  you." 

"You're  nervous,"  he  said  calmly.  "Go  ahead 
and  talk.  It's  the  new  psychology.  Never  bury 
your  worries.  Talk  'em  out  and  get  rid  of  'em." 

"I  was  never  forbidden  to  see  you." 

"All  right,"  he  said  contentedly.  "I  knew  that 
all  along.  What  else?" 

"Even  my  hand  in  your  coat  pocket  is  a  trick." 

"Sure  it  is,  but  it's  a  nice  trick.    What  else?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  marry  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are.  You  can't  very  well  go  back, 
can  you?  Mother's  probably  called  up  the  papers 
already." 

Then  he  sat  up  and  looked  at  me. 

"Now,  look  here,  young  lady,"  he  said.  "I'm 
no  idiot.  •  I  knew  before  you  were  born  some  of  the 
stunts  you  pulled.  I've  never  been  fooled  for  a 
minute  about  them.  But  you're  going  to  marry  me. 
Why?  Because  I'm  crazy  about  you.  That's  why. 
And  that's  enough." 

It  was  terrible.  And  there  was  no  way  out,  none. 
The  train  rumbled  on.  There  was  a  tunnel  and  he 
kissed  me.  It  was  a  short  tunnel. 

Somebody  behind  chuckled. 

And  then  at  last  it  was  over,  and  we  were  there, 
and  I  was  being  led  like  a  sheep  to  the  altar,  and 


96 AFFINITIES 

Henry  was  on  the  platform  with  ring  and  license 
and  all  the  implements  of  sacrifice. 

"Behold,"  said  Russell  from  the  train  platform, 
"the  family  friend  is  on  hand.  Whose  idea  was 
Henry,  anyhow*?  His  or  yours  or  mother's*?" 

Henry  came  up.  He  looked  cheerful  enough,  al 
though  I  fancied  he  was  pale.  I  liked  his  necktie. 
I  always  liked  Henry's  ties. 

"Hello,"  he  said.  "Everything  here4?  Where's 
your  luggage*?" 

"Baggage  car,"  said  Russell.  "Look  after  Kit, 
Henry,  will  you4?  I'll  see  to  it." 

He  hadn't  taken  two  steps  before  Henry  had 
clutched  my  arm. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't,"  he  said.  "I  can  see  it 
in  your  face." 

"Henry!"  I  gasped.    "What  am  I  to  do4?" 

"You're  to  marry  me,"  he  said  in  a  sort  of  fierce 
whisper.  "Don't  stop  to  argue.  I've  always  meant 
to  marry  you.  Quick,  into  the  taxi !" 

That's  all  I  remember  just  then,  except  hearing 
him  say  he  had  the  license  and  the  ring,  and  an  up 
roar  from  where  we'd  left  Russell  and  all  his  money 
on  the  platform. 

"Wha-what  sort  of  license4?"  I  asked,  with  my 
teeth  chattering  from  pure  fright.  "If  it's  in  Rus 
sell's  name  it's  not  good,  is  it4?" 

"It's  in  my  name,"  said  Henry,  grimly. 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  97 

"But  the  ring — that's  Russell's." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Henry,  still  without  an  atom 
of  tenderness.  "I  bought  it  and  paid  for  it.  It's 
got  'From  H.  to  K.'  inside  of  it.  Very  small,"  he 
added  hastily.  "It's  quite  narrow,  as  you  requested." 

"Henry,"  I  said,  sitting  up  stiffly,  "what  would 
I  have  done  if  you  hadn't  been  round?" 

"You  needn't  worry  about  that.  After  this  I'll 
always  be  round.  I  don't  intend  to  be  underfoot," 
he  volunteered,  "but  I'll  be  within  call.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,"  he  added,  "I've  been  within  call  prac 
tically  all  of  the  last  month.  It's  taken  a  lot  of 
time." 

If  only  he  had  said  something  agreeable  or  yield 
ing,  or  looked  anything  but  grim  and  efficient,  I 
could  have  stood  it.  But,  there  we  were,  on  our 
way  to  be  married,  and  he  looked  as  sentimental  as 
a  piano  tuner. 

All  at  once  it  came  over  me  that  it  was  Henry,  it 
always  had  been  Henry,  it  always  would  be  Henry. 
And  he  looked  calm  and  altruistic  and  rather  hollow 
round  his  eyes. 

"If  you're  omy  doing  this  to  save  me,"  I  said, 
"you  needn't,  you  know.  I  can  go  home,  even  if 
the  papers  have  got  it." 

"Don't  make  me  any  more  nervous  than  I  am, 
Kit,"  he  said.  "I'm  about  evenly  divided  as  to 


98 AFFINITIES 

beating  you  up  or  kissing  you.  Any  extra  strain,  and 
it's  one  or  the  other." 

"Don't  beat  me,  Henry." 

"I'm  damnably  poor,  Kit,"  he  said. 

For  reply  I  slid  my  hand  into  his  coat  pocket. 
He  melted  quite  suddenly  after  that,  and  put  his 
arms  round  me.  I  knew  I  was  being  a  fool  but  I 
was  idiotically  happy. 

"Henry,"  I  said,  "do  you  know  that  verse  in  the 
Bible,  that  as  a  partridge  sits  on  eggs  and  fails  to 
hatch  them,  so  too  the  person  who  gets  riches  with 
out  deserving  them1?" 

He  held  me  off  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he  sus 
pected  my  sanity.  Then  he  kissed  me. 


Mother  has  never  really  forgiven  me.  It  put  her 
in  so  awfully  wrong,  of  course.  For  she  called  up 
the  newspapers,  and  said  that  if  they  received  a  ic- 
port  that  I  had  eloped  with  Mr.  Russell  Hill,  they 
were  please  to  deny  it. 

Of  course  they  sent  reporters  everywhere  at  once. 
And  they  traced  me  to  the  station.  About  the  time 
mother  was  reading  the  headlines  "Society  Bud  and 
Well-Known  Clubman  Elope,"  and  wiring  Madge, 
she  got  Henry's  telegram. 

She  thinks  I  threw  away  the  chance  of  a  lifetime. 


THE  FAMILY  FRIEND  99 

But  since  the  day  before  yesterday  I've  been  won 
dering.  I  was  going  over  Henry's  old  suits,  get 
ting  them  ready  to  be  cleaned  and  pressed.  We 
have  to  be  very  economical.  And  in  a  pocket  I  came 
across  this  letter: 

"DEAR  BOY:  We  have  decided  on  the  eleven- 
o'clock  train.  For  the  love  of  Mike  don't  miss  meet 
ing  it !  And  after  thinking  it  over  carefully,  you're 
right.  When  I  go  to  see  after  the  luggage  will  be 
the  best  time.  [VC  ours, 

"RUSSELB." 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE 

plain  truth  is,"  said  Carrie  Smith,  "that, 

A  no  matter  how  happy  two  people  may  be  to 
gether,  the  time  comes  when  they  are  bored  to  death 
with  each  other." 

Nobody  said  anything.  It  was  true  and  we  knew 
it.  Ida  Elliott  put  down  the  scarf  she  was  knitting 
for  the  Belgians  and  looked  down  over  the  hill  to 
where  a  lot  of  husbands  were  playing  in  the  swim 
ming  pool. 

"It  isn't  just  a  matter  of  being  bored,  you  know, 
Carrie,"  she  said.  "A  good  many  of  us  have  made 
mistakes."  Then  she  sighed.  Ida  is  not  really  un 
happy,  but  she  likes  to  think  she  is. 

None  of  the  rest  made  any  comment.  But  one 
or  two  of  the  other  girls  put  down  their  knitting 
and  looked  out  over  the  hills. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  saying  it,  Clara," 
Carrie  said,  turning  to  me;  "but  it's  a  mistake  to 
have  a  week-end  party  like  this.  Last  night  when 
I  played  pool  with  your  Bill  after  the  rest  of  you 
had  gone  upstairs,  Wallie  refused  to  speak  to  me 
when  I  went  to  bed.  He's  still  sulking." 

I  am  not  sensitive ;  but  when  they  everyone  turned 

103 


104 AFFINITIES 

on  me  and  said  it  was  a  beautiful  party,  but  why, 
in  heaven's  name,  had  I  asked  only  husbands  and 
not  one  extra  man,  it  made  me  a  trifle  hot. 

"As  most  of  us  see  our  husbands  only  during  week 
ends,"  I  said  tartly,  "I  should  think  this  sort  of  fam 
ily  reunion  would  be  good  for  us." 

Carrie  sniffed. 

"See  them !"  she  snapped.  "They've  been  a  part 
of  the  landscape  since  we  came,  and  that's  all.  Either 
they're  in  the  pool,  or  playing  clock  golf,  or  making 
caricatures  of  themselves  on  the  tennis  court.  A  good 
photograph  would  be  as  comforting,  and  wouldn't 
sulk." 

Well,  the  whole  thing  really  started  from  that.  I 
made  up  my  mind,  somehow  or  other,  to  even  up 
with  them.  I'd  planned  a  really  nice  party,  and 
even  if  they  were  bored  they  might  have  had  the 
politeness  to  conceal  it. 

Even  now,  badly  as  things  turned  out,  I  maintain 
that  the  idea  was  a  good  one.  I  had  a  bad  time,  I'll 
admit  that.  But  the  rest  of  them  were  pretty  un 
happy  for  a  while.  The  only  thing  I  can't  quite  for 
give  is  that  Bill — but  that  comes  later  on. 

There  had  been  very  little  doing  all  spring.  Every 
body  was  poor,  and  laying  up  extra  motors,  and  try 
ing  to  side-step  appeals  for  Eastern  relief,  and  hiding 
dressmakers'  bills.  There  were  hardly  any  dividends 
at  all,  and  what  with  the  styles  completely  changing 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     105 

from  wide  skirts  to  narrow  ones,  so  that  not  a  thing 
from  last  year  would  do,  and  the  men  talking  noth 
ing  but  retrenchment  and  staying  at  the  table  hours 
after  every  dinner  party,  fighting  the  war  over  again, 
while  we  sat  and  knitted,  I  never  remember  a  drear 
ier  spring. 

"Although,"  Carrie  Smith  said  with  truth,  "the 
knitting's  rather  good  for  us.  No  woman  can  en 
joy  a  cigarette  and  knit  at  the  same  time." 

The  craze  for  dancing  was  dying  away,  too,  and 
nothing  came  along  to  take  its  place.  The  debutantes 
were  playing  tennis,  but  no  woman  over  twenty-two 
should  ever  play  tennis,  so  most  of  us  were  out  of 
that.  Anyhow  it's  violent.  And  bridge,  for  any 
thing  worth  while,  was  apt  to  be  too  expensive. 

But  to  go  back. 

We  sat  and  knitted  and  yawned,  and  the  hus 
bands  put  on  dressing  gowns  and  ambled  up  the  hill 
and  round  to  the  shower  baths  in  the  basement.  I 
looked  at  Bill.  Bill  is  my  husband  and  I'm  fond 
of  Bill.  But  there  are  times  when  he  gets  on  my 
nerves.  He  has  a  faded  old  bathrobe  that  saw  him 
through  college  and  his  honeymoon,  and  that  he  still 
refuses  to  part  with,  and  he  had  it  on. 

It  was  rather  short,  and  Bill's  legs,  though  service 
able,  are  not  beautiful. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  me. 

"If  you'd  do  a  little  of  that  sort  of  thing,  Clara," 


106 AFFINITIES 

he  called,  "you  wouldn't  need  to  have  the  fat  rubbed 
off  you  by  an  expensive  masseuse." 

"Quite  a  typical  husbandly  speech!"  said  Carrie 
Smith. 

"Do  they  ever  think  of  anything  but  exercise  and 
expense*?" 

Well,  the  men  bathed  and  dressed  and  had  whisky- 
and-sodas,  and  came  out  patronisingly  and  joined  us 
at  tea  on  the  terrace.  But  inside  of  ten  minutes  they 
were  in  a  group  round  the  ball  news  and  the  financial 
page  of  the  evening  papers,  and  we  were  alone  again. 

Carrie  Smith  came  over  and  sat  down  beside  me, 
with  her  eyes  narrowed  to  a  slit. 

"I  didn't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  Clara,"  she 
said,  "but  you  see  what  I  mean.  They're  not  inter 
ested  in  us.  We  manage  their  houses  and  bring  up 
their  children.  That's  all." 

As  Carrie  was  the  only  one  who  had  any  chil 
dren,  and  as  they  were  being  reared  by  a  trained 
nurse  and  a  governess,  and  the  baby  yelled  like  an 
Apache  if  Carrie  went  near  him,  her  air  of  virtue 
was  rather  out  of  place.  However : 

"What  would  you  recommend*?"  I  asked  wearily. 
"They're  all  alike,  aren't  they6?" 

"Not  all."  Her  eyes  were  still  narrowed.  And 
at  that  moment  Wai  lie  Smith  came  over  and  threw 
an  envelope  into  her  lap. 

"It  came  to  the  office  by  mistake,"  he  said  grimly. 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     107 

"What  made  you  have  your  necklace  reset  when 
I'm  practically  bankrupt*?" 

"I  bought  hardly  any  new  stones,"  she  flashed  at 
him.  "Anyhow,  I  intend  to  be  decently  clothed. 
Tear  it  up;  nobody's  paying  any  bills." 

He  stalked  away,  and  Carrie  looked  at  me. 

"No,"  she  said  slowly,  "they  are  not  all  alike. 
Thank  heaven  there  are  a  few  men  who  don't  hoist 
the  dollar  mark  as  a  flag.  Clara,  do  you  remember 
Harry  Delaney?" 

I  looked  at  Carrie. 

A  little  spot  of  red  had  come  into  each  of  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes,  mere  slits  by  now,  were  fixed 
on  the  far-away  hills. 

She  and  Harry  had  been  engaged  years  ago,  and 
she  threw  him  over  because  of  his  jealous  nature. 
But  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that. 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  rather  startled. 

"He  was  a  dear.  Sometimes  I  think  he  was  the 
most  generous  soul  in  the  world.  I  cannot  imagine 
his  fussing  about  a  necklace,  or  sulking  for  hours 
over  a  bit  of  innocent  pleasure  like  my  playing  a 
game  of  pool  after  a  lot  of  sleepyheads  had  gone  to 
bed." 

"What  time  did  you  and  Bill  go  upstairs'?" 

"Something  after  two.  We  got  tired  of  playing 
and  sat  out  here  and  talked.  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
mind,  Clara.  You've  got  too  much  sense.  Surely 


108 AFFINITIES 

a  woman  ought  to  be  allowed  friends,  even  if  she  is 
married." 

"Oh,  friends!"  I  retorted.  "If  she's  going  to  keep 
her  husband  a  friend  she's  got  her  hands  full.  Cer 
tainly  I'm  not  jealous  of  you  and  Bill,  Carrie.  But 
it's  not  friends  most  of  us  want,  if  you're  after  the 
truth.  We  want  passionate  but  perfectly  respecta 
ble,  commandment-keeping  lovers!" 

Carrie  laughed,  but  her  colour  died  down. 

"How  silly  you  are !"  she  said,  and  got  up.  "May 
be  we'd  like  to  feel  that  we're  not  clear  out  of  the 
game,  but  that's  all.  We're  a  little  tired  of  being 
taken  for  granted.  I  don't  want  a  lover;  I  want 
amusement,  and  if  I'd  married  Harry  Delaney  I'd 
have  had  it." 

"If  you'd  married  him  he  would  have  been  down 
there  at  the  pool,  showing  off  like  a  goldfish  in  a 
bowl,  the  same  as  the  others." 

"He  would  not.  He  can't  swim,"  said  Carrie, 
and  sauntered  away.  Somehow  I  got  the  impression 
that  she  had  been  sounding  me,  and  had  got  what  she 
wanted.  She  looked  very  handsome  that  night,  and 
wore  the  necklace.  Someone  commented  on  it  at 
dinner,  and  Wallie  glared  across  at  it. 

"It  isn't  paid  for,"  he  said,  "and  as  far  as  I  can 
see,  it  never  will  be." 

Of  course,  even  among  old  friends,  that  was  going 
rather  far. 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     109 

Well,  the  usual  thing  happened  after  dinner.  The 
men  smoked  and  argued,  and  we  sat  on  the  terrace 
and  yawned.  When  they  did  come  out  it  was  to 
say  that  golf  and  swimming  had  made  them  sleepy, 
and  Jim  Elliott  went  asleep  in  his  chair.  Carrie 
said  very  little,  except  once  to  lean  over  and  ask  me 
if  I  remembered  the  name  of  the  man  Alice  Warring- 
ton  had  thrown  over  for  Ted.  When  I  told  her  she 
settled  back  into  silence  again. 

The  next  morning  all  the  husbands  were  up  early 
and  off  to  the  club  for  a  Sunday's  golfing.  At  ten 
o'clock  a  note  came  in  on  my  breakfast  tray  from 
Carrie. 

"Slip  on  something  and  come  to  my  room,"  it 
said. 

When  I  got  there  Ida  and  Alice  Warringtoli  were 
there  already,  and  Carrie  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  with 
the  same  spots  of  colour  I'd  seen  before.  I  curled  up 
on  the  bed  with  my  hands  round  my  knees. 

"Go  to  it,  Carrie,"  I  said.  "If  it's  church,  it's 
too  late.  If  it's  a  picnic,  it  looks  like  rain." 

"Close  the  door,  Ida,"  said  Carrie.  "Girls,  I'm 
getting  pretty  tired  of  this." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  dragging  the  matrimonial  ball  and  chain 
wherever  I  go,  and  having  to  hear  it  clank  and  swear 
and  sulk,  and — all  the  rest.  I'm  tired,  and  so  are 
all  of  you.  Only  I'm  more  honest." 


110 AFFINITIES 

"It's  all  rather  a  mess/'  Ida  said  languidly.  "But 
divorce  is  a  mess  too.  And,  anyhow,  what's  the  use 
of  changing"?  Just  as  one  gets  to  know  a  man's  pet 
stories,  and  needn't  pretend  to  laugh  at  them  any 
more,  why  take  on  a  new  bunch  of  stories — or 
habits?" 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Carrie,  ignoring  her,  "that 
they  have  all  the  good  times.  They  don't  have  to 
look  pretty.  Their  clothes  last  forever.  And  they're 
utterly  selfish  socially.  You  girls  know  how  much 
they  dance  with  the  married  women  when  there  are 
any  debutantes  about." 

We  knew. 

"The  thing  to  do,"  said  Carrie,  "is  to  bring  them 
back  to  a  sense  of  obligation.  They've  got  us.  We 
stay  put.  They  take  us  to  parties  and  get  up  a  table 
of  bridge  for  us,  and  go  off  to  a  corner  with  a  chit 
just  out  of  school,  or  dance  through  three  handker 
chiefs  and  two  collars,  and  grumble  at  paying  our 
bridge  losses.  Or  else  they  stay  at  home,  and  noth 
ing  short  of  a  high  explosive  would  get  them  out 
of  their  chairs." 

"Destructive  criticism,"  said  Alice  Warrington, 
"never  gets  anywhere.  We  agree  with  you.  There's 
no  discussion.  Are  you  recommending  the  high  ex 
plosive?" 

"I  am,"  said  Carrie  calmly.  "I  propose  to  wake 
them  up,  and  to  have  a  good  time  doing  it." 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     111 

Well,  as  it  turned  out,  it  was  I  who  wakened  them 
up,  and  nobody  had  a  very  good  time  about  it. 

"There's  just  one  man  a  husband  is  always  jealous 
of,"  Carrie  went  on,  and  her  eyes  were  slitted  as 
usual.  "That's  the  man  his  wife  could  have  married 
and  didn't." 

I  expect  I  coloured,  for  Bill  has  always  been  in 
sanely  jealous  of  Roger  Waite,  although  honestly  I 
never  really  cared  for  Roger.  We  used  to  have  good 
times  together,  of  course.  You  know. 

Carrie's  plan  came  out  by  degrees. 

"It  will  serve  two  purposes,"  she  said.  "It  will 
bring  the  men  to  a  sense  of  responsibility,  and  stop 
this  silly  nonsense  about  bills  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  And  it  will  be  rather  fun.  It's  a  sin  to  drop 
old  friends.  Does  Wallie  drop  his*?  Not  so  you 
could  notice  it.  Every  time  I'm  out  of  town  he 
lives  at  Grace  Bamabee's." 

Carrie  had  asked  us  all  to  spend  the  next  week 
end  with  her,  but  the  husbands  were  going  to  New 
York  for  the  polo  game  and  she  had  called  the  party 
off.  But  now  it  was  on  again. 

"Do  you  girls  remember  the  house  party  I  had 
when  Wallie  was  in  Cuba,  before  we  were  engaged  *? 
We  had  a  gorgeous  time.  I'm  going  to  repeat  it. 
It's  silly  to  say  lightning  doesn't  strike  twice  in  the 
same  place.  Of  course  it  does,  if  one  doesn't  use 
lightning  rods.  Peter  Arundel  for  Alice,  and  Roger 


112  AFFINITIES 

for  you,  Clara.    Ida,  you  were  in  Europe,  but  we'll 
let  you  in.     Who'll  you  have?" 

"Only  one?"  asked  Ida. 

"Only  one." 

Ida  chose  Wilbur  Bayne,  and  Carrie  wrote  the 
notes  right  there  in  bed,  with  a  pillow  for  a  desk, 
and  got  ink  on  my  best  linen  sheets. 

"I'm  sorry  I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  she  said. 
"The  house  party  is  bound  to  be  fun,  and  if  it  turns 
out  well  we'll  do  it  regularly.  I'll  ask  in  a  few 
people  for  dancing  Saturday  night,  but  we'll  keep 
Sunday  for  ourselves.  We'll  have  a  deliciously  sen 
timental  day." 

She  sat  back  and  threw  out  her  arms. 

"Good  Lord,"  she  said,  "I'm  just  ripe  for  a  bit 
of  sentiment.  I  want  about  forty-eight  hours  with 
out  bills  or  butlers  or  bridge.  I'm  going  to  send  my 
diamond  necklace  to  a  safe  deposit,  and  get  out  my 
debutante  pearls,  and  have  the  wave  washed  out  of 
my  hair,  and  fill  in  the  necks  of  one  or  two  gowns. 
I  warn  you  fairly,  there  won't  be  a  cigarette  for  any 
of  you." 

When  I  left  them  they  were  already  talking 
clothes,  and  Carrie  had  a  hand  glass  and  was  look 
ing  at  herself  intently  in  it. 

"I've  changed,  of  course,"  she  sighed.  "One  can't 
have  two  children  and  not  show  the  wear  and  tear 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     113 

of  maternity.    I  could  take  off  five  pounds  by  going 
on  a  milk  diet.    I  think  I  will." 

She  went  on  the  diet  at  luncheon  that  day,  and 
Wallie  told  her  that  if  she  would  cut  out  heavy  din 
ners  and  wine  her  stomach  would  be  her  friend,  not 
her  enemy.  She  glanced  at  me,  but  I  ignored  her. 
Somehow  I  was  feeling  blue. 

The  week-end  had  not  been  a  success,  and  the  girls 
had  not  been  slow  to  tell  me  about  it.  The  very 
eagerness  with  which  they  planned  for  the  next 
week  told  me  what  a  failure  I'd  had.  Even  then  the 
idea  of  getting  even  somehow  with  Carrie  was  in 
the  back  of  my  mind. 

The  men  did  some  trap  shooting  that  afternoon, 
and  during  dinner  Jim  started  a  discussion  about  put 
ting  women  on  a  clothes  allowance  and  making  them 
keep  within  it. 

"I  can  systematise  my  business,"  he  said,  "but 
I  can't  systematise  my  home.  I'm  spending  more 
now  than  I'm  getting  out  of  the  mill." 

Wallie  Smith  came  up  to  scratch  about  that  time 
by  saying  that  his  mother  raised  him  with  the  assis 
tance  of  a  nursemaid,  and  no  governess  and  trained 
nurse  nonsense. 

"That  is  why  I  insist  on  a  trained  nurse  and  a 
governess,"  said  Carrie  coldly,  and  took  another  sip 
of  milk. 


114 AFFINITIES 

They  went  home  that  night,  and  Bill,  having  seen 
them  into  the  motors,  came  up  on  the  terrace. 

"Bully  party,  old  dear,"  he  said  enthusiastically. 
"Have  'em  often,  won't  you?" 

He  sat  down  near  me  and  put  a  hand  over  mine. 
All  at  once  I  was  sorry  I'd  accepted  Carrie's  invita 
tion.  Not  that  there  would  be  any  harm  in  seeing 
Roger  again,  but  because  Bill  wouldn't  like  it.  The 
touch  of  his  warm  hand  on  mine,  the  quiet  of  the 
early  summer  night  after  the  noise  that  had  gone  be 
fore,  the  scent  of  the  honeysuckle  over  the  pergola, 
all  combined  to  soften  me. 

"I'm  glad  you  had  a  good  time,  Bill,"  I  said  after 
a  little  silence.  "I'm  afraid  the  girls  didn't  enjoy 
it  much.  You  men  were  either  golfing  or  swimming 
or  shooting,  and  there  wasn't  much  to  do  but  talk." 

Bill  said  nothing.  I  thought  he  might  be  resent 
ful,  and  I  was  in  a  softened  mood. 

"I  didn't  really  mind  your  staying  downstairs  the 
other  night  with  Carrie,"  I  said.  "Bill,  do  smell  the 
honeysuckle.  Doesn't  it  remind  you  of  the  night 
you  asked  me  to  marry  you*?" 

Still  Bill  said  nothing.  I  leaned  over  and  looked 
at  him.  As  usual  he  was  asleep. 

About  the  middle  of  the  week  Roger  Waite  called 
me  up.  We  did  not  often  meet — two  or  three  times 
in  the  winter  at  a  ball,  or  once  in  a  season  at  a  din 
ner.  Ida  Elliott  always  said  he  avoided  me  because 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     115 

it  hurt  him  to  see  me.  We  had  been  rather  sentimen 
tal.  He  would  dance  once  with  me,  saying  very  little, 
and  go  away  as  soon  as  he  decently  could  directly  the 
dance  was  over.  Sometimes  I  had  thought  that  it 
pleased  him  to  fancy  himself  still  in  love  with  me, 
and  it's  perfectly  true  that  he  showed  no  signs  of 
marrying.  It  was  rather  the  thing  for  the  debutan 
tes  to  go  crazy  about  Roger.  He  had  an  air  of 
knowing  such  a  lot  and  keeping  it  from  them. 

"Why  don't  you  keep  him  around1?"  Ida  asked 
me  once.  "He's  so  ornamental.  I'm  not  strong  for 
tame  cats,  but  I  wouldn't  mind  Roger  on  the  hearth 
rug  myself." 

But  up  to  this  time  I'd  never  really  wanted  any 
body  on  the  hearthrug  but  Bill.  If  I  do  say  it,  I 
was  a  perfectly  contented  wife  until  the  time  Carrie 
Smith  made  her  historic  effort  to  revive  the  past. 
"Let  sleeping  dogs  lie"  is  my  motto  now — and  tame 
cats  too. 

Well,  Roger  called  me  up,  and  there  was  the  little 
thrill  in  his  voice  that  I  used  to  think  he  kept  for  me. 
I  know  better  now. 

"What's  this  about  going  out  to  Carrie  Smith's*?" 
he  said  over  the  phone. 

"That's  all,"  I  replied.    "You're  invited  and  I'm 


going." 


"O !"  said  Roger.    And  waited  a  moment.    Then : 


116 AFFINITIES 

"I  was  going  on  to  the  polo,"  he  said,  "but  of 
course — What's  wrong  with  Bill  and  polo*?" 

"He's  going." 

"Oh!"  said  Roger.  "Well,  then,  I  think  I'll  go 
to  Carrie's.  It  sounds  too  good  to  be  true — you,  and 
no  scowling  husband  in  the  offing!" 

"It's — it's  rather  a  long  time  since  you  and  I  had 
a  real  talk." 

"Too  long,"  said  Roger.  "Too  long  by  about 
three  years." 

That  afternoon  he  sent  me  a  great  box  of  flowers. 
My  conscience  was  troubling  me  rather,  so  I  sent 
them  down  to  the  dinner  table.  Whatever  happened 
I  was  not  going  to  lie  about  them. 

But  Bill  only  frowned. 

"I've  just  paid  a  florist's  bill  of  two  hundred  dol 
lars,"  he  grumbled.  "Cut  out  the  American  beau 
ties,  old  dear." 

It  was  not  his  tone  that  made  me  angry.  It  was 
his  calm  assumption  that  I  had  bought  the  things. 
As  if  no  one  would  think  of  sending  me  flowers ! 

"If  you  would  stop  sending  orchids  to  silly  de 
butantes  when  they  come  out,"  I  snapped,  "there 
would  be  no  such  florist's  bills." 

One  way  or  another  Bill  got  on  my  nerves  that 
week.  He  brought  Wallie  Smith  home  one  night  to 
dinner,  and  Wallie  got  on  my  nerves  too.  I  could 
remember,  when  Wallie  and  Carrie  were  engaged 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     117 

and  we  were  just  married,  how  he  used  to  come  and 
talk  us  black  in  the  face  about  Carrie. 

"How's  Carrie,  Wallie?"  I  said  during  the  soup. 

"She's  all  right,"  he  replied,  and  changed  the 
subject.  But  later  in  the  evening,  while  Bill  was 
walking  on  the  lawn  with  a  cigar,  he  broke  out  for 
fair. 

"Carrie's  on  a  milk  diet,"  he  said  apropos  of  noth 
ing.  "If  she  stays  on  it  another  week  I'm  going  to 
Colorado.  She's  positively  brutal,  and  she  hasn't 
ordered  a  real  dinner  for  anybody  for  a  week." 

"Really!"  I  said. 

He  got  up  and  towered  over  me. 

"Look  here,  Clara,"  he  said;  "you're  a  sensible 
woman.  Am  I  fat?  Am  I  bald?  Am  I  a  dodder 
ing  and  toothless  venerable?  To  hear  Carrie  this 
past  few  days  you'd  think  I  need  to  wear  overshoes 
when  I  go  out  in  the  grass." 

I  rather  started,  because  I'd  been  looking  at  Bill 
at  that  minute  and  wondering  if  he  was  getting  his 
feet  wet.  He  had  only  pumps  on. 

"It  isn't  only  that  she's  brutal,"  he  said,  "she  has 
soft  moments  when  she  mothers  me.  Confound  it, 
I  don't  want  to  be  mothered!  She's  taken  off  eight 
pounds,"  he  went  on  gloomily.  "And  that  isn't  the 
worst."  He  lowered  his  voice.  "I  found  her  cry 
ing  over  some  old  letters  the  other  day.  She  isn't 
happy,  Clara.  You  know  she  could  have  married 


118 AFFINITIES 

a  lot  of  fellows.    She  was  the  most  popular  girl  I 
ever  knew." 

Well,  I'd  known  Carrie  longer  than  he  had,  and 
of  course  a  lot  of  men  used  to  hang  round  her  house 
because  there  was  always  something  to  do.  But  I'd 
never  known  that  such  a  lot  of  them  made  love  to 
Carrie  or  wanted  to  marry  her.  She  was  clever 
enough  to  hesitate  over  Wallie,  but,  believe  me,  she 
knew  she  had  him  cinched  before  she  ran  any  risk. 
However : 

"I'm  sure  you've  tried  to  make  her  happy,"  I 
said.  "But  of  course  she  was  awfully  popular." 

I'm  not  so  very  keen  about  Carrie,  but  the  way  I 
felt  that  week,  when  it  was  a  question  between  a  hus 
band  and  a  wife,  I  was  for  the  wife.  "Of  course," 
I  said  as  Bill  came  within  hearing  distance,  "it's  not 
easy,  when  one's  had  a  lot  of  attention,  to  settle 
down  to  one  man,  especially  if  the  man  is  consider 
ably  older  and — and  settled." 

That  was  a  wrong  move,  as  it  turned  out.  For 
Bill,  who  never  says  much,  got  quieter  than  ever, 
and  announced,  just  before  he  went  to  bed,  that  he'd 
given  up  the  polo  game.  I  was  furious.  I'd  had 
one  or  two  simple  little  frocks  run  up  for  Carrie's 
party,  and  by  the  greatest  sort  of  luck  I'd  happened 
on  a  piece  of  flowered  lawn  almost  exactly  like  one 
Roger  used  to  be  crazy  about. 

For  twenty-four  hours  things  hung  in  the  balance. 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     119 

Bill  has  a  hideous  way  of  doing  what  he  says  he'll 
do.  Roger  had  sent  more  flowers — not  roses  this 
time,  but  mignonette  and  valley  lilies,  with  a  few 
white  orchids.  It  looked  rather  bridey.  It  would 
have  been  too  maddening  to  have  Bill  queer  the 
whole  thing  at  the  last  minute. 

But  I  fixed  things  at  bridge  one  night  by  saying 
that  I  thought  married  people  were  always  better 
off  for  short  separations,  and  that  I  was  never  so 
fond  of  Bill  as  when  he'd  been  away  for  a  few  days. 

"Polo  for  me !"  said  Bill. 

And  I  went  out  during  my  dummy  hand  and  tele 
phoned  Carrie. 

I  hope  I  have  been  clear  about  the  way  the  thing 
began.  I  feel  that  my  situation  should  be  explained. 
For  one  thing,  all  sorts  of  silly  stories  are  going 
round,  and  it  is  stupid  of  people  to  think  they  can 
not  ask  Roger  and  me  to  the  same  dinners.  If  Bill 
would  only  act  like  a  Christian,  and  not  roar  the 
moment  his  name  is  mentioned,  there  would  be  a 
chance  for  the  thing  to  die  out.  But  you  know  what 
Bill  is. 

Well,  the  husbands  left  on  Saturday  morning,  and 
by  eleven  o'clock  Ida,  Alice  and  I  were  all  at  Carrie's. 
The  change  in  her  was  simply  startling.  She  looked 
like  a  willow  wand.  She'd  put  her  hair  low  on  her 
neck,  and  except  for  a  touch  of  black  on  her  eye 
lashes,  and  of  course  her  lips  coloured,  she  hadn't  a 


120 AFFINITIES 

speck  of  makeup  on.  She'd  taken  the  pearls  out  of 
her  ears,  too,  and  she  wore  tennis  clothes  and  flat- 
heeled  shoes  that  made  her  look  like  a  child. 

She  was  sending  the  children  off  in  the  car  as  we 
went  up  the  drive. 

"They're  off  to  mother's,"  she  said.  "I'll  miss 
them  frightfully,  but  this  is  a  real  lark,  girls,  and  I 
can't  imagine  anything  more  killing  to  romance  than 
small  children." 

She  kissed  the  top  of  the  baby's  head,  and  he 
yelled  like  a  trooper.  Then  the  motor  drove  off, 
and,  as  Alice  Warrington  said,  the  stage  was  set. 

"Get  your  tennis  things  on,"  Carrie  said.  "The 
men  will  be  here  for  lunch." 

We  said  with  one  voice  that  we  wouldn't  play 
tennis.  le  was  too  hot.  She  eyed  us  coldly. 

"For  heaven's  sake,"  she  said,  "play  up.  Nobody 
asked  you  to  play  tennis.  But  if  you  are  asked  don't 
say  it's  too  hot.  Do  any  of  the  flappers  at  the  club 
ever  find  it  too  hot  to  play?  Sprain  an  ankle  or 
break  a  racket,  but  don't  talk  about  its  being  too 
violent,  or  that  you've  given  it  up  the  last  few  years. 
Try  to  remember  that  for  two  days  you're  in  the 
game  again,  and  don't  take  on  a  handicap  to  begin 
with." 

Well,  things  started  off  all  right,  I'll  have  to  ad 
mit  that,  although  Carrie  looked  a  trifle  queer  when 
Harry  Delaney,  getting  out  of  the  motor  that  had 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     121 

brought  them  from  the  station,  held  out  a  baby's 
rattle  to  her. 

"Found  it  in  the  car,"  he  said.  "How  are  the 
youngsters  anyhow1?" 

"Adorable !"  said  Carrie,  and  flung  the  rattle  into 
the  house. 

Roger  came  straight  to  me  and  took  both  my 
hands. 

"Upon  my  word,  Clara,"  he  said,  "this  is  more 
luck  than  I  ever  expected  again.  Do  you  remember 
the  last  time  we  were  all  here  together^" 

"Of  course  I  do."  He  was  still  holding  my  hands 
and  I  felt  rather  silly.  But  the  others  had  paired 
off  instantly  and  no  one  was  paying  any  attention. 

"I  was  almost  suicidal  that  last  evening.  You — 
you  had  just  told  me,  you  know." 

I  withdrew  my  hands.  When  a  man  is  being  senti 
mental  I  like  him  to  be  accurately  sentimental.  It 
had  been  a  full  month  after  that  house  party,  at  a 
dance  Carrie  gave,  that  I  had  told  him  of  my  engage 
ment  to  Bill.  However,  I  said  nothing  and  took  a 
good  look  at  Roger.  He  was  wonderful.  t 

Why  is  it  that  married  men  lose  their  boyishness, 
and  look  smug  and  sleek  and  domesticated  almost 
before  the  honeymoon  is  over?  Roger  stood  there 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  the  hot  noon  sun  shin 
ing  on  him.  And  he  hadn't  changed  a  particle,  ex 
cept  that  his  hair  was  grey  over  his  ears  and  maybe 


122 AFFINITIES 

a  bit  thinner.  He  was  just  as  eager,  just  as  boyish, 
just  as  lean  as  he'd  ever  been.  And  positively  he 
was  handsomer  than  ever. 

Bill  is  plain.  He  is  large  and  strong,  of  course, 
but  he  says  himself  his  face  must  have  been  cut  out 
with  an  axe.  "Rugged  and  true,"  he  used  to  call 
himself.  But  lately,  in  spite  of  golf,  he  had  put  on 
weight. 

Well,  to  get  on. 

Luncheon  was  gay.  Everyone  sat  beside  the  per 
son  he  wanted  to  sit  beside,  and  said  idiotic  things, 
and  Peter  Arundel  insisited  on  feeding  Alice's  straw 
berries  to  her  one  by  one.  Nobody  talked  bills  or 
the  high  cost  of  living.  Roger  is  a  capital  raconteur, 
and  we  laughed  until  we  wept  over  his  stories.  I 
told  some  of  Bill's  stock  jokes  and  they  went  with  a 
hurrah.  At  three  o'clock  we  were  still  at  the  table, 
and  when  Carrie  asked  the  men  if  they  wanted  to 
run  over  to  the  Country  Club  for  a  couple  of  hours 
of  golf  Wilbur  Bayne  put  the  question  to  a  vote 
and  they  voted  "No"  with  a  roar. 

I  remember  that  Harry  Delaney  said  a  most  satis 
factory  thing  just  as  luncheon  was  over. 

"It's  what  I  call  a  real  party,"  he  said.  "After 
a  man  is  thirty  or  thereabouts  he  finds  debutantes 
still  thrilling,  of  course,  but  not  restful.  They're 
always  wanting  to  go  somewhere  or  do  something. 
^They're  too  blooming  healthy.  The  last  week-end 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     123 

I  spent  I  danced  until  4  A.  M.  and  was  wakened  at 
seven-thirty  by  a  fair  young  flower  throwing  gravel 
through  my  open  window  and  inviting  me  to  a  walk 
before  breakfast!" 

"Anyone  seen  about  the  place  before  eleven  to 
morrow  morning,"  said  Carrie,  "will  be  placed  un 
der  restraint.  For  one  thing,  it  would  make  the  ser 
vants  talk.  They're  not  used  to  it." 

So  far  so  good.  I'll  confess  freely  that  if  they'd 
let  me  alone  I'd  never  have  thought  of  getting  even. 
But  you  know  Carrie  Smith.  She  has  no  reserves. 
And  she  had  to  tell  about  my  party  and  the  way  the 
husbands  behaved. 

"Don't  glare,  Clara,"  she  said.  "Your  house  is 
nice  and  your  food  and  drink  all  that  could  be  de 
sired.  But  it  was  not  a  hilarious  party,  and  I'll  put 
it  up  to  the  others." 

Then  and  there  she  told  about  the  swimming  and 
the  golf  and  the  knitting.  The  men  roared.  She 
exaggerated,  of  course.  Bill  did  not  go  to  sleep  at 
dinner.  But  she  made  a  good  story  of  it,  and  I 
caught  Roger's  eye  fixed  on  me  with  a  look  that  said 
plainly  that  lie' d  always  known  I'd  made  a  mistake, 
and  here  was  the  proof. 

We  went  out  into  the  garden  and  sat  under  a 
tree.  But  soon  the  others  paired  off  and  wandered 
about.  Roger  and  I  were  left  alone,  and  I  was  boil 
ing. 


124 AFFINITIES 

"Don't  look  like  that,  little  girl,"  said  Roger, 
bending  toward  me.  "It  hurts  me  terribly  to— to 
think  you  are  not  happy." 

He  put  a  hand  over  mine,  and  at  that  moment 
Alice  Warrington  turned  from  a  rosebush  she  and 
Peter  were  pretending  to  examine,  and  saw  me.  She 
raised  her  eyebrows,  and  that  gave  me  the  idea.  I 
put  my  free  hand  over  Roger's  and  tried  to  put  my 
soul  into  my  eyes. 

"Don't  move,"  I  said.  "Hold  the  position  for  a 
moment,  Roger,  and  look  desperately  unhappy." 

"I  am,"  he  said.  "Seeing  you  again  brings  it  all 
back.  Are  they  looking?  Shall  I  kiss  your  hand?" 

I  looked  over.   Alice  and  Peter  were  still  staring. 

"Bend  over,"  I  said  quickly,  "and  put  your  cheek 
against  it.  It's  more  significant  and  rather  hopeless. 
I'll  explain  later." 

He  did  extremely  well.  He  bent  over  passionately 
until  his  head  was  almost  in  my  lap,  and  I  could  see 
how  carefully  his  hair  was  brushed  over  a  thin  place 
at  the  crown.  Thank  goodness,  Bill  keeps  his  hair 
anyhow ! 

"How's  this?"  he  said  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"That's  plenty."  I'd  made  up  my  mind,  and  I 
meant  to  go  through  with  it.  But  I  felt  like  a  fool. 
There's  something  about  broad  daylight  that  makes 
even  real  sentiment  look  idiotic. 

He  sat  up  and  looked  into  my  eyes. 


"There  are  times,"  he  said,  raising  his  voice, 
"when  I  feel  I  can't  stand  it.  I'm  desperately — > 
desperately  unhappy,  Clara." 

"We  must  make  the  best  of  things,"  I  said,  and 
let  my  eyes  wander  toward  Alice  and  Peter.  They 
had  turned  and  were  retreating  swiftly  through  the 
garden. 

"Now,"  said  Roger,  sitting  back  and  smoothing 
his  hair,  "what's  it  all  about?' 

So  I  told  him  and  explained  my  plan.  Even  now, 
when  I  never  want  to  see  him  again,  I  must  admit 
that  Roger  is  a  sport.  He  never  turned  a  hair. 

"Of  course  I'll  do  it.  It  isn't  as  hard  as  you  im 
agine.  Our  meeting  like  this  revives  the  old  fire. 
I'm  mad  about  you,  recklessly  mad,  and  you're  crazy 
about  me.  All  right  so  far.  But  a  thing  like  that 
won't  throw  much  of  a  crimp  into  Carrie.  Probably 
she  expects  it." 

"To-night,"  I  explained,  "we'll  be  together,  but 
silent  and  moody.  When  we  smile  at  their  nonsense 
it  is  to  be  a  forced  smile.  We're  intent  on  ourselves. 
Do  you  see  *?  And  you  might  go  to  Carrie  after  din 
ner  and  tell  her  you  think  you'll  go.  You  can't  stand 
being  near  me.  It's  too  painful.  I'll  talk  to  one 
of  the  men  too." 

He  looked  rather  uncomfortable. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  do  that,  Clara.  They  wouldn't 
understand." 


126 AFFINITIES 

"Not  about  you,"  I  retorted  coldly.  "I'll  merely 
indicate  that  Bill  and  I  aren't  hitting  it  off,  and  that 
a  woman  has  a  right  to  be  happy.  Then,  when  things 
happen,  they'll  remember  what  I  said." 

He  turned  round  his  wicker  chair  so  that  he  faced 
me. 

"When  things  happen?"  he  said.  "What  things?" 

"When  we  elope  to-morrow  night,"  I  replied. 

I'm  not  defending  myself.  Goodness  knows  I've 
gone  through  all  that.  I  am  merely  explaining.  And 
I  think  Roger  deserves  part  of  the  blame,  but  of 
course  the  woman  always  suffers.  If  he  had  only 
been  frank  with  me  at  the  time  it  need  never  have 
happened.  Besides,  I've  been  back  to  that  bridge 
again  and  again,  and  with  ordinary  intelligence  and 
a  hammer  he  could  have  repaired  it.  It  is  well 
enough  for  him  to  say  he  didn't  have  a  hammer. 
He  should  have  had  a  hammer. 

At  the  mention  of  an  elopement  Roger  changed 
colour,  but  I  did  not  remember  that  until  afterward. 
He  came  up  to  scratch  rather  handsomely,  when  he 
was  able  to  speak,  but  he  insisted  that  I  write  the 
whole  thing  to  Bill. 

"I  can  tell  him  afterward,"  I  protested. 

"That  won't  help  me  if  he  has  beaten  me  up  first. 
You  write  him  to  the  office,  so  he'll  get  it  Monday 
morning  when  he  gets  back  from  the  game.  If  any 
thing  should  slip  up  you're  protected,  don't  you  see? 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     127 

Tell  him  it's  a  joke  and  why  we're  doing  it.  I — I 
hope  Bill  has  kept  his  sense  of  humor." 

Well,  it  looked  simple  enough.  We  were  to  act 
perfectly  silly  and  moonstruck  all  the  rest  of  that 
day  and  Sunday  until  we  had  them  all  thoroughly 
worried.  Then  on  Sunday  night  we  were  to  steal 
Wallie's  car  and  run  away  in  it.  The  through  train 
stops  at  a  station  about  four  miles  away,  at  eleven- 
fourteen  at  night,  and  we  were  to  start  that  way  and 
then  turn  around  and  go  to  mother's. 

We  planned  it  thoroughly,  I  must  say.  Roger 
said  he'd  get  one  of  the  fellows  to  cash  a  check  for 
all  the  money  he  had  about  him.  They'd  be  sure  to 
think  of  that  when  Carrie  got  my  note.  And  I  made 
a  draft  of  the  note  then  and  there  on  the  back  of 
an  old  envelope  from  Roger's  pocket.  We  made  it 
as  vague  as  possible. 

"Dear  Carrie,"  it  ran,  "by  the  time  you  receive 
this  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  happiness.  Try  to  for 
give  me.  I  couldn't  stand  things  another  moment. 
We  only  live  one  life  and  we  all  make  mistakes. 
Read  Ellen  Key  and  don't  try  to  follow  me.  I'm 
old  enough  to  know  my  own  mind,  and  all  you  have 
been  saying  this  last  few  days  has  convinced  me 
that  when  a  chance  for  happiness  comes  one  is  a  fool 
not  to  take  it.  Had  it  not  been  for  you  I  should 
never  have  had  my  eyes  opened  to  what  I've  been. 


128 AFFINITIES 

missing  all  this  time.  I  have  wasted  my  best  years, 
but  at  last  I  am  being  true  to  myself.  CLARA." 

"Now,"  I  said,  rather  viciously  I  dare  say,  "let 
her  read  that  and  throw  a  fit.  She'll  never  again  be 
able  to  accuse  me  of  making  things  dull  for  her." 

Roger  read  it  over. 

"We'd  better  write  Bill's  letter,"  he  said,  "and 
get  it  off.  We — it  wouldn't  do  to  have  Bill  worried, 
you  know." 

So  we  went  into  the  house  and  wrote  Bill's  letter. 
We  explained  everything — how  stupid  they'd  all 
found  our  party  and  that  this  was  only  a  form  of 
revenge. 

"Suppose,"  Roger  said  as  I  sealed  it,  "suppose 
they  get  excited  and  send  for  the  police'?" 

That  stumped  us.  It  was  one  thing  to  give  them 
a  bad  night,  and  telephone  them  in  the  morning  that 
it  was  a  joke  and  that  I'd  gone  direct  from  Carrie's 
to  mother's,  which  was  the  arrangement.  But  Car 
rie  was  a  great  one  for  getting  in  detectives.  You 
remember,  the  time  her  sister  was  married,  that  Car 
rie  had  a  detective  in  the  house  for  a  week  before 
the  wedding  watching  the  presents,  and  how  at  the 
last  minute  the  sister  wanted  to  marry  the  detective, 
who  was  a  good-looking  boy,  and  they  had  a  dread 
ful  time  getting  her  to  the  church. 

We  both  thought  intently  for  quite  a  time. 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     129 

"We  must  cut  the  telephone  wire,  Roger,"  I  said 
at  length.  | 

Roger  was  not  eager  about  cutting  the  telephone. 
He  said  he  would  probably  be  shocked  to  death,  al 
though  if  he  could  find  a  pair  of  rubber  overshoes 
he'd  take  the  risk. 

"It  ought  to  be  done  the  very  last  thing,"  he  said. 
"No  use  rousing  their  suspicions  early." 

We  played  up  hard  all  afternoon.  Roger  kissed 
the  lump  of  sugar  he  put  in  my  tea,  and  went  and 
sulked  on  the  parapet  when  Peter  Arundel  came  and 
sat  beside  me.  Carrie  joined  him  there,  and  I  could 
see  her  talking  earnestly  to  him  while  Roger  looked 
out  over  the  landscape  with  eyes  that  were  positively 
sombre. 

"Having  a  good  time*?"  said  Peter  Arundel  to  me. 

"Heavenly,  Peter,"  I  replied,  looking  at  Roger. 
"I  didn't  believe  I  could  be  so  happy." 

"Go  to  it,"  said  Peter.  "What's  a  day  or  two 
out  of  a  lifetime." 

I  turned  round  and  faced  him,  my  hands  gripped 
hard  in  my  lap.  i 

"That's  it,"  I  said  tensely.  "That's  the  thought 
that's  killing  me.  One  can  only  be  happy  for  a  day 


or  two." 


"Oh,  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,"  said  Peter. 
"You  have  a  pretty  fair  time,  you  know,  Clara. 
Old  Bill's  a  good  sort." 


130  AFFINITIES 


"Oh,  Bill!"  I  said. 

"I  went  to  college  with  Bill.  Maybe  Bill  hasn't 
any  frills,  but  he's  a  real  man."  He  glared  at  Rog 
er's  drooping  shoulders.  "He's  no  tailor's  dummy 
anyhow." 

I  ignored  this. 

"Peter,"  I  said  in  a  thin  voice,  "have  you  ever 
read  Ellen  Key?" 

"Not  on  your  life !"  said  Peter. 

I  quoted  a  bit  I  happened  to  remember. 

"  'Nothing  is  wiser  than  the  modern  woman's  de 
sire  to  see  life  with  her  own  eyes,  not  only  with 
those  of  a  husband.'  "  I  sighed. 

"If  I  were  Bill,"  said  Peter,  "I'd  burn  that  book." 

"  'Nothing,'  "  I  continued,  "  'is  more  true  than 
that  souls  which  are  parted  by  a  lack  of  perfect 
frankness  never  belonged  to  one  another.' ' 

"Look  here,"  said  Peter,  and  got  up;  "I  think 
you've  lost  your  mind,  Clara — you  and  Roger  Waite 
both.  Look  at  him  mooning  over  there.  I'd  like  to 
turn  the  garden  hose  on  him." 

I  looked  at  Roger — a  long  gaze  that  made  Peter 
writhe. 

"  'Love's  double  heartbeat' "  I  began.  But 

Peter  stalked  away,  muttering. 

Carrie  had  left  Roger,  so  I  put  down  my  cup  and 
followed  him  to  the  parapet  of  the  terrace. 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     131 

"Darling !"  he  said.  And  then,  finding  Peter  was 
not  with  me:  "How's  it  going?" 

"Cracking!    They're  all  worried  already." 

"We've  hardly  started.  Slip  your  arm  through 
mine,  Clara,  and  I'll  hold  your  hand.  Dear  little 
hand!"  he  said.  "When  I  think  that  instead  of 

that  ring "  Here  he  choked  and  kissed  my  hand. 

Then  I  saw  that  Harry  Delaney  was  just  below  the 
wall. 

Carrie's  voice  broke  in  on  our  philandering. 

"If,"  she  said  coldly,  "you  two  people  can  be 
pried  apart  with  a  crowbar  for  a  sufficient  length 
of  time,  we  will  motor  to  Bubbling  Spring.  There's 
just  time  before  dinner." 

"I  don't  think  I'll  go,  Carrie,"  I  said  languidly. 
"I  have  a  headache  and  Roger  has  just  offered  to 
read  to  me.  Do  you  remember  how  you  used  to 
cure  my  headaches,  Roger?" 

"I'd  rather  not  talk  about  those  days,  Clara,"  said 
Roger  in  a  shaky  voice. 

"I  wish  you  two  people  could  see  and  hear  your 
selves!"  Carrie  cried  furiously,  and  turned  on  her 
heel. 

"I  guess  that  will  hold  her  for  a  while,"  Roger 
purred.  "Clara,  you're  an  angel  and  an  inspiration. 
I  haven't  had  such  a  good  time  since  I  had  scarlet 
fever." 

Dinner,  which  should  have  been  gay,  was  simply 


132  AFFINITIES 

noisy.  They  were  all  worried,  and  it  is  indicative 
of  how  Carrie  had  forgotten  her  pose  and  herself 
that  she  wore  her  diamond  necklace.  Roger  had 
been  placed  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  from  me, 
but  he  slipped  in  and  changed  the  cards.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  dinner  guests,  but  Roger  and  I  ate 
little  or  nothing. 

"Act  as  though  the  thought  of  food  sickens  you," 
I  commanded. 

"But  I'm  starving!" 

"I'll  have  my  maid  take  a  tray  into  the  garden 
later." 

In  spite  of  me  he  broke  over  at  the  entree,  which 
was  extremely  good.  But  everyone  saw  that  we 
were  not  eating.  The  woman  on  Roger's  right,  a 
visitor,  took  advantage  of  a  lull  in  the  noise  to  ac 
cuse  Roger  of  being  in  love.  Ida  giggled,  but  Roger 
turned  to  his  neighbour. 

"I  am  in  love,"  he  said  mournfully;  "hopelessly, 
idiotically,  madly,  recklessly  in  love." 

"With  any  particular  person?" 

"With  you,"  said  Roger,  who  had  never  seen  her 
before. 

She  quite  fluttered. 

"But  I  am  married !" 

"Unfortunate,  but  not  fatal,"  said  Roger  distinct 
ly,  while  everyone  listened.  "These  days  one  must 
be  true  to  one's  self." 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     133 

We  were  awfully  pleased  with  ourselves  that 
evening.  I  said  my  head  still  ached  and  I  could 
not  dance.  Roger  and  I  sat  out-of-doors  most  of 
the  time,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  Powell,  my  maid, 
brought  out  a  tray  of  what  was  left  from  dinner 
and  the  dance  supper.  She  took  it  by  order  to  a 
small  shaded  porch  off  the  billiard  room,  and  we 
found  her  there  with  it. 

"Thank  you,  Powell,"  I  said.  But  Roger  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  house.  When  he  returned  he 
was  grinning. 

"Might  as  well  do  it  right  while  we're  about  it," 
he  observed.  "To-morrow  morning  Powell  will  go 
to  Carrie  and  tell  her  you  sat  up  all  night  by  the 
window,  and  she's  afraid  you  are  going  to  be  ill." 

In  the  dusk  we  shook  hands  over  the  tray. 

Well,  a  lot  of  things  happened,  such  as  our  over 
hearing  the  men  in  the  billiard  room  debating  about 
getting  poor  old  Bill  on  the  long  distance. 

"It  isn't  a  flirtation,"  said  Wilbur  Bayne.  "I've 
seen  Clara  flirting  many  a  time.  But  this  is  differ 
ent.  They're  reckless,  positively  reckless.  When  a 
man  as  fond  of  his  stomach  as  Roger  lets  a  whole 
meal  go  by,  he's  pretty  far  gone." 

Roger  bent  over,  with  a  part  of  a  squab  in  his 
hand. 

"Have  they  bitten !"  he  said.    "They've  not  only 


134 AFFINITIES 

swallowed  hook,  line  and  sinker  but  they're  walking 
up  the  bank  to  put  themselves  in  the  basket !" 

Well,  the  next  morning  it  was  clear  that  the  girls 
had  decided  on  a  course  and  were  following  it.  Al 
though  it  had  been  arranged  that  everyone  was  to 
sleep  late,  breakfast  trays  appeared  in  the  rooms  at 
nine-thirty,  with  notes  asking  us  to  go  to  church. 
When  I  said  I  had  not  slept,  and  did  not  care  to 
go,  no  one  went,  and  when  Roger  appeared  at  eleven 
the  girls  surrounded  me  like  a  cordon  of  police. 

Roger  was  doing  splendidly.  He  came  up  across 
the  tennis  court,  covered  with  dust,  and  said  he  had 
not  slept  and  had  been  walking  since  six  o'clock. 
The  men  eyed  him  with  positive  ferocity. 

I'll  not  go  into  the  details  of  that  day,  except  to 
relate  a  conversation  Ida  Elliott  and  I  had  after 
luncheon.  She  came  into  my  room  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her  softly,  as  if  I  were  ill. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  did  think,  Clara,  that  if  you 
didn't  have  any  sense,  you  would  have  some  con 
sideration  for  Carrie." 

I  had  been  addressing  the  envelope  to  Bill,  and 
so  I  shoved  a  sheet  of  paper  over  it. 

"I'm  not  going  to  try  to  read  what  you  are 
writing,"  she  said  rudely. 

"What  do  you  mean  about  Carrie?" 

"She's  almost  ill,  that's  all.    How  could  anyone 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     135 

have  had  any  idea  that  Roger  and  you "  She 

fairly  choked. 

"Roger  and  I  are  only  glad  to  be  together  again," 
I  said  defiantly.  Then  I  changed  to  a  wistful  tone. 
Just  hearing  it  made  me  sorry  for  myself.  "We  are 
old  friends;  Carrie  knew  that.  It  is  cruel  of  you 
all  to — to  spoil  the  little  bit  of  happiness  I  can  get 
out  of  life." 

"What  about  Bill?" 

"Bill*"  I  said  vaguely.  "Oh— Bill!  Well,  Bill 
would  never  stand  in  the  way  of  my  being  true  to 
myself.  He  would  want  me  to  be  happy." 

I  put  my  handkerchief  suddenly  to  my  eyes,  and 
she  gave  me  a  scathing  glance. 

"I'm  going  to  telephone  Bill,"  she  said.  "You're 
not  sane,  Clara.  And  when  you  come  back  to  your 
senses  it  may  be  too  late." 

She  flounced  out,  and  I  knew  she  would  call  Bill 
if  she  could.  From  the  window  I  could  see  that 
Harry  Delaney  had  Roger  by  the  arm  and  was  walk 
ing  him  up  and  down.  It  was  necessary,  if  the  fun 
was  to  go  on,  to  disconnect  the  telephone.  I  ran 
down  to  the  library  and  dropped  the  instrument 
on  the  floor  twice,  but  when  I  put  it  to  my  ear  to 
see  if  it  was  still  working  I  found  it  was,  for  Cen 
tral  was  saying:  "For  the  love  of  heaven,  something 
nearly  busted  my  eardrum !" 

Ida  had  not  come  down  yet,  and  the  telephone 


136 AFFINITIES 

was  on  a  table  in  the  corner,  beside  a  vase  of  flowers. 
When  I  saw  the  flowers  I  knew  I  was  saved.  I 
turned  the  vase  over  and  let  the  water  soak  into  the 
green  cord  that  covers  the  wires.  I  knew  it  would 
short-circuit  the  telephone,  for  once  one  of  the  maids 
at  home,  washing  the  floor,  had  wet  the  cord,  and  we 
were  cut  off  for  an  entire  day. 

During  the  afternoon  I  gave  Harry  Delaney  the 
letter  to  Bill.  Harry  was  going  to  the  little  town 
that  was  the  post  office  to  get  something  for  Carrie. 

"You  won't  forget  to  mail  it,  will  you,  Harry*?" 
I  asked  in  a  pathetic  voice. 

He  read  the  address  and  looked  at  me. 

"What  are  you  writing  to  Bill  for,  Clara?  He'll 
be  home  in  the  morning." 

I  looked  confused.    Then  I  became  frank. 

"I'm  writing  him  something  I  don't  particularly 
care  to  tell  him." 

He  fairly  groaned  and  thrust  the  thing  into  his 
pocket. 

"For  refined  cruelty  and  absolute  selfishness,"  he 
said,  "commend  me  to  the  woman  with  nothing  to 
do  but  to  get  into  mischief." 

"Will  you  promise  to  mail  it?" 

"Oh,  I'll  mail  it  all  right,"  he  said;  "but  I  give 
you  until  six  o'clock  this  evening  to  think  it  over. 
I'm  not  going  to  the  station  until  then." 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     137 

"To  think  over  what*?"  I  asked,  my  eyes  opened 
innocently  wide.  But  he  flung  away  in  a  fury. 

It  was  rather  fun  that  afternoon.  If  my  party 
had  been  dreary  on  Sunday  it  was  nothing  to 
Carrie's.  They'd  clearly  all  agreed  to  stay  round 
and  keep  Roger  and  me  apart.  Everybody  sulked, 
and  the  men  got  the  Sunday  newspapers  and  buried 
themselves  in  them.  Once  I  caught  Roger  dropping 
into  a  doze.  He  had  refused  the  paper  arid  had  been 
playing  up  well,  sitting  back  in  his  chair  with  his 
cap  over  his  eyes  and  gazing  at  me  until  everybody 
wiggled. 

"Roger,"  I  called,  when  I  saw  his  eyes  closing, 
"are  you  game  for  a  long  walk?" 

Roger  tried  to  look  eager. 

"Sure,"  he  said. 

"Haven't  you  a  particle  of  humanity?"  Carrie 
demanded.  She  knew  some  of  them  would  have  to 
go  along,  and  nobody  wanted  to  walk.  It  was  boil 
ing.  "He  has  been  up  since  dawn  and  he's  walked 
miles." 

Roger  ignored  her. 

"To  the  ends  of  the  world — with  you,  Clara,"  he 
said,  and  got  up. 

In  the  end  they  all  went.  It  was  a  tragic-looking 
party.  We  walked  for  miles  and  miles,  and  Carrie 
was  carrying  her  right  shoe  when  we  got  back.  It 


138 AFFINITIES 

was  too  late  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  everyone  was 
worn  out.    So  we  went  in  as  we  were. 

"I'm  terribly  sorry  it's  nearly  over,"  I  babbled 
as  the  soup  was  coming  in.  "It  has  been  the  most 
wonderful  success,  hasn't  it"?  Ida,  won't  you  have 
us  all  next  week?  Maybe  we  can  send  the  husbands 
to  the  yacht  races." 

"Sorry,"  said  Ida  coldly;  "I've  something  else 
on." 

Worried  as  they  were,  nobody  expected  us  to  run 
away.  How  to  let  them  know  what  had  happened, 
and  put  a  climax  to  their  discomfiture,  was  the  ques 
tion.  I  solved  it  at  last  by  telling  Powell  to  come 
in  at  midnight  with  the  sleeping  medicine  Carrie 
had  given  her  for  me.  I  knew,  when  she  found  I  was 
not  there,  she  would  wait  and  at  last  raise  the  alarm. 
What  I  did  not  know  was  that  she  would  come  in 
half  an  hour  early,  and  cut  off  our  lead  by  thirty 
minutes. 

The  evening  dragged  like  the  afternoon,  and  so 
thoroughly  was  the  spice  out  of  everything  for  them 
all,  that  when  I  went  upstairs  at  ten-thirty  Ida 
Elliott  was  singing  Jim's  praises  to  Wilbur  Bayne, 
and  Carrie  had  got  out  the  children's  photographs 
and  was  passing  them  round. 

As  I  went  out  through  the  door  Roger  opened  for 
me,  he  bowed  over  my  hand  and  kissed  it. 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     139 

"Oh,  cut  it  out !"  I  heard  Peter  growl,  and  there 
was  a  chorus  from  the  others. 

I  had  to  stop  in  the  hall  outside  and  laugh.  It 
was  the  last  time  I  laughed  for  a  good  many  hours. 

By  eleven  I  was  ready.  Everyone  was  upstairs, 
and  Carrie  had  found  out  about  the  telephone  by 
trying  to  call  up  her  mother  to  inquire  about  the  chil 
dren.  I  had  packed  a  small  suitcase  and  at  Roger's 
whistle  I  was  to  drop  it  out  the  window  to  him. 
Things  began  to  go  wrong  with  that,  for  just  as  I 
was  ready  to  drop  it  someone  rapped  at  my  door.  I 
swung  it  too  far  out,  and  it  caught  Roger  full  in  the 
chest  and  carried  him  over  backward.  I  had  just 
time  to  see  him  disappear  in  the  shrubbery  with  a 
sort  of  dull  thud  when  Alice  Warrington  knocked 
again. 

She  came  in  and  sat  on  the  bed. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  nasty,  Clara,"  she  said,  "but 
you  know  how  fond  I  am  of  you,  and  I  don't  want 
you  to  misunderstand  Roger.  It's  his  way  to  make 
violent  love  to  people  and  then  get  out.  Of  course 
you  know  he's  being  very  attentive  to  Maisie  Brown. 
She's  jealous  of  you  now.  Somebody  told  her  Roger 
used  to  be  crazy  about  you.  If  she  hears  of 
this " 

"Clara!"  said  Roger's  voice  under  the  window. 

Alice  rose,  with  the  most  outraged  face  I've  ever 
seen. 


140 AFFINITIES 

"He  is  positively  shameless,"  she  said.  "As  for 
you,  Clara,  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  feel." 

"Clara!"  said  Roger.  "I  must  speak  to  you. 
Just  one  word." 

Alice  swept  out  of  the  room  and  banged  the  door. 
I  went  to  the  window. 

"Something  seems  to  have  broken  in  the  dratted 
thing,"  he  said.  "It  smells  like  eau  de  Cologne. 
I'm  covered  with  it." 

As  it  developed  later  it  was  eau  de  Cologne.  I 
have  never  got  a  whiff  of  it  since  that  I  don't  turn 
fairly  sick.  And  all  of  that  awful  night  Roger 
fairly  reeked  with  it. 

Well,  by  midnight  everything  was  quiet,  and  I 
got  downstairs  and  into  the  drive  without  alarming 
anyone.  Roger  was  waiting,  and  for  some  reason 
or  other — possibly  the  knock — he  seemed  less  en 
thusiastic. 

"I  hope  Harry  remembered  the  letter  to  Bill," 
he  said.  "Whether  this  thing  is  a  joke  or  not  de 
pends  on  the  other  person's  sense  of  humor.  What 
in  heaven's  name  made  you  put  scent  in  your  bag?" 

He  had  his  car  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  drive, 
and  just  as  I  got  in  we  heard  it  thunder. 

"How  far  is  it  to  your  mother's?" 

"Twelve  miles." 

"It's  going  to  rain." 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     141 

"Rain  or  not,  I'm  not  going  back,  Roger,"  I  said. 
"Imagine  Bill's  getting  that  letter  for  nothing." 

He  got  into  the  car  and  it  began  to  rain  at  once. 
Everyone  knows  about  that  storm  now.  We  had 
gone  about  four  miles  when  the  sky  fairly  opened. 
The  water  beat  in  under  the  top  and  washed  about 
our  feet.  We  drove  up  to  the  hubs  in  water,  and  the 
lights,  instead  of  showing  us  the  way,  only  lit  up  a 
wall  of  water  ahead.  It  was  like  riding  into  Niagara 
Falls.  We  were  pretty  sick,  I  can  tell  you. 

"Why  didn't  you  look  at  the  sky?"  I  yelled  at 
Roger,  above  the  beating  of  the  storm.  "Bill  can 
always  tell  when  it's  going  to  storm." 

"Oh,  damn  Bill!"  said  Roger,  and  the  car  slid 
off  the  road  and  into  a  gully.  Roger  just  sat  still 
and  clutched  the  wheel. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  do  something1?"  I  snapped. 
"I'm  not  going  to  sit  here  all  night  and  be  drowned." 

"Is  there  anything  you  could  suggest?" 

"Can't  you  get  out  and  push  it*?" 

"I  cannot." 

But  after  five  minutes  or  so  he  did  crawl  out,  and 
by  tying  my  suitcase  straps  round  one  of  the  wheels 
he  got  the  car  back  into  the  road.  I  daresay  I  was 
a  trifle  pettish  by  that  time. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  drip  on  me,"  I  said. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  replied,  and  moved  as 
far  from  me  as  he  could. 


142 AFFINITIES 

We  went  on  in  silence.     At  last: 

"There's  one  comfort  about  getting  that  soaking," 
he  said:  "it's  washed  that  damned  perfume  off." 

There's  one  thing  about  Bill,  he  keeps  his  temper. 
And  he  doesn't  raise  the  roof  when  he  gets  his  clothes 
wet.  He  rather  likes  getting  into  difficulties,  to 
show  how  well  he  can  get  out  of  them.  But  Roger 
is  like  a  cat.  He  always  hated  to  get  his  feet  wet. 

"If  you  had  kept  the  car  in  the  centre  of  the  road 
you  wouldn't  have  had  to  get  out,"  I  said  shortly. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you're  going  back  to  first  causes,"  he 
retorted,  "if  you'd  never  suggested  this  idiotic  thing 
I  wouldn't  be  laying  up  a  case  of  lumbago  at  this 
minute." 

"Lumbago  is  middle-aged,  isn't  it?" 

"We're  neither  of  us  as  young  as  we  were  a  few 
years  ago." 

That  was  inexcusable.  Roger  is  at  least  six  years 
older  than  I  am.  Besides,  even  if  it  were  true,  there 
was  no  necessity  for  him  to  say  it.  But  there  was 
no  time  to  quarrel,  for  at  that  moment  we  were 
going  across  a  bridge  over  a  small  stream.  It  was 
a  river  now.  The  first  thing  I  knew  was  that  the 
car  shook  and  rocked  and  there  was  a  dull  groaning 
underneath.  The  next  minute  we  had  gone  slowly 
down  about  four  feet  and  the  creek  was  flowing 
over  us. 

We  said  nothing  at  first.    The  lights  went  off  al- 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     143 

most  immediately,  as  the  engine  drowned,  and  there 
we  sat  in  the  flood,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I 
was  crying. 

"The  bridge  is  broken,"  said  Roger,  above  the 
rush  of  the  stream. 

"I  didn't  think  you  were  washing  the  car,"  I 
whimpered.  "We'll  be  drowned,  that's  all." 

The  worst  of  the  storm  was  over,  but  as  far  as  I 
was  concerned  it  might  just  as  well  have  been  pour 
ing.  When  Roger  got  his  matches  and  tried  to  light 
one  it  only  made  a  sick  streak  of  phosphorescence  on 
the  side  of  the  box.  To  make  things  worse,  Roger 
turned  round,  and  where  the  road  crossed  the  brow 
of  the  hill  behind  us  there  was  the  glow  of  automo 
bile  lamps.  He  swore  under  his  breath. 

"They're  coming,  Clara,"  he  said.  "That  fool  of 
a  maid  didn't  wait  until  midnight." 

The  thought  of  being  found  like  that,  waist-deep 
in  water,  drove  me  to  frenzy.  I  knew  how  they'd 
laugh,  how  they'd  keep  on  laughing  for  years. 
They'd  call  us  the  Water  Babies  probably,  or  some 
thing  equally  hateful.  I  just  couldn't  stand  the 
thought. 

I  got  up. 

"Let  them  think  we're  drowned — anything,"  I 
said  desperately.  "I  will  not  be  found  like  this." 

Roger  looked  about  like  a  hunted  animal. 

"There's — there's  a  house  near  here  on  the  hill," 


144  AFFINITIES 

he  said.  Afterward  I  remembered  how  he  hesitated 
over  it.  "We  could  get  up  there,  I'm  pretty  sure." 

He  looked  back. 

"They  seem  to  have  stopped,"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
the  other  bridge  has  gone." 

He  lifted  me  out  and  set  me  on  the  bank.  He 
was  not  particularly  gentle  about  it,  and  I  was  all 
he  could  carry.  That's  one  thing  about  Bill — he's 
as  strong  as  an  ox  and  as  gentle  as  a  young  gazelle. 

Well,  we  scurried  up  the  bank,  the  water  pouring 
off  us,  and  I  lost  a  shoe.  Roger  wouldn't  wait  until 
I  found  it,  but  dragged  me  along,  panting.  Sud 
denly  I  knew  that  I  hated  him  with  a  deadly  hatred. 
The  thought  of  how  nearly  I  had  married  him  made 
me  shiver. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  go  of  me,"  I  said. 

"Why?  You  can't  climb  alone  in  the  silly  clothes 
you  wear." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  I  don't  like  you  to  touch  me." 

"Oh,  if  you  feel  like  that "  He  let  me  go, 

and  I  almost  fell.  "You  know,  Clara,  I  am  trying 
hard  to  restrain  myself,  but — this  is  all  your  doing." 

"I  suppose  I  broke  the  bridge  down,"  I  said  bit 
terly,  "and  brought  on  the  rain,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it." 

"Now  I  recognise  the  Clara  I  used  to  know,"  he 
had  the  audacity  to  say,  "always  begging  the  ques 
tion  and  shifting  the  responsibility.  For  heaven's 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     145 

sake  don't  stop  to  quarrel !  They've  probably  found 
the  car  by  this  time." 

We  got  to  the  house  and  I  fell  exhausted  on  the 
steps.  To  my  surprise  Roger  got  out  a  bunch  of 
keys  and  fitted  one  to  the  lock. 

"I  know  these  people,"  he  said.  "I — I  sometimes 
come  out  in  the  fall  for  a  bit  of  shooting.  Place  is 
closed  now." 

The  interior  looked  dark  and  smelled  musty.  I 
didn't  want  to  go  in,  but  it  was  raining  again  and 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

"Better  overcome  your  repugnance  and  give  me 
your  hand,"  he  said.  "If  we  turn  on  a  light  they'll 
spot  us." 

Oh,  it  is  all  very  well  to  say,  looking  back,  that 
we  shoulcl  have  sat  in  the  car  until  we  were  found, 
and  have  carried  it  all  off  as  a  part  of  the  joke.  I 
couldn't,  that's  flat.  I  couldn't  have  laughed  if  I'd 
been  paid  to. 

We  bumped  into  a  square  hall  and  I  sat  down.  It 
was  very  quiet  all  at  once,  and  the  only  thing  to  be 
heard  was  the  water  dripping  from  us  to  the  hard 
wood  floor. 

"If  that's  a  velvet  chair  you're  on  it  will  be 
ruined,"  said  Roger's  voice  out  of  the  darkness. 

"I  hope  it  is.    Where  is  the  telephone?" 

"There  is  a  telephone  closet  under  the  stairs." 

".You  know  a  lot  about  this  house.    Whose  is  it?" 


146 AFFINITIES 

"It's  the  Brown  place.    You  know  it." 

"Maisie  Brown's!" 

"Yes."    He  was  quite  sullen. 

"And  you  have  a  key  like  one  of  the  family! 
Roger,  you  are  engaged  to  her!" 

"I  was,"  he  said.  "The  chances  are  when  this  gets 
out  I  won't  be." 

I  don't  know  why  now,  but  it  struck  me  as  funny. 
I  sat  and  laughed  like  a  goose,  and  the  more  I 
laughed  the  harder  Roger  breathed. 

"You've  got  to  see  me  through  this,  Clara,"  he 
said  at  last.  "You  can't  telephone  Carrie — you've 
fixed  all  that.  But  you  can  get  your  mother.  Tell 
her  the  circumstances  and  have  her  send  a  car  for 
you.  I'll  stay  here  to-night.  And  if  you  take  my 
advice  you'll  meet  Bill  at  the  train  to-morrow  morn 
ing  and  beat  Carrie  to  it.  She'll  be  in  town  with  a 
line  of  conversation  by  daybreak." 

He  found  some  dry  matches  and  led  me  to  the 
telephone.  Something  in  the  way  I  dripped,  or  be 
cause  I  padded  across  the  floor  in  one  stocking  foot, 
made  him  a  trifle  more  human. 

"I'll  close  the  curtains  and  light  the  log  fire,"  he 
said.  "Things  are  bad  enough  without  your  taking 
pneumonia." 

The  moment  I  took  the  receiver  off  the  hook  I 
knew  the  wires  were  down  somewhere.  I  sat  for  a 
moment,  then  I  opened  the  door.  Roger  was  on  his 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     147 

knees  lighting  the  fire.  He  looked  very  thin,  with 
his  clothes  stuck  to  him,  and  the  hair  that  he  wore 
brushed  over  the  bare  place  had  been  washed  down, 
and  he  looked  almost  bald. 

"Roger,"  I  said,  with  the  calmness  of  despair, 
"the  wires  are  down!" 

"Hush,"  said  Roger  suddenly.  "And  close  that 
door." 

It  seemed  rather  foolish  to  me  at  the  time.  Since 
they  had  followed  us,  they'd  know  perfectly  well 
that  if  Roger  was  there  I  was. 

In  walked  Maisie  Brown  and  about  a  dozen  other 
people! 

I  can  still  hear  the  noise  they  made  coming  in, 
and  then  a  silence,  broken  by  Maisie's  voice. 

"Why,  Roger!"  she  said. 

"Awfully  surprising  to  see  you  here — I  mean,  I 
expect  you  are  surprised  to  see  me  here,"  said 
Roger's  voice,  rather  thin  and  stringy.  "The  fact 
is,  I  was  going  by,  and — it  was  raining  hard,  and 
I " 

"Then  that  was  your  car  in  the  creek?" 

"Well,  yes,"  Roger  admitted,  after  a  hesitation. 
He  was  evidently  weighing  every  word,  afraid  of 
committing  himself  to  anything  dangerous. 

"I  thought  you  were  at  Carrie  Smith's." 

"I  was  on  my  way  home." 


148 AFFINITIES 

Everybody  laughed.  It  was  about  a  dozen  miles 
to  Roger's  road  home  from  Carrie's. 

"Come  on,  now,  there's  a  mystery.  Own  up," 
said  a  man's  voice.  "Where's  the  beautiful  lady*? 
Drowned?" 

Luckily  no  one  waited  for  an  answer.  They  de 
manded  how  he  had  got  in,  and  when  he  said  he 
had  a  key  they  laughed  again.  Some  one  told  Maisie 
she  might  as  well  confess.  If  Roger  had  a  key  to 
the  house  it  required  explanation. 

If  ever  I  heard  cold  suspicion  in  a  girl's  voice,  it 
was  in  Maisie's  when  she  answered : 

"Oh,  we're  engaged  all  right,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  she  said.  "But  I  think  Roger  and  I " 

They  didn't  give  her  a  chance  to  finish,  the  idiots ! 
They  gave  three  cheers,  and  then,  as  nearly  as  I 
could  make  out,  they  formed  a  ring  and  danced 
round  them.  They'd  been  to  a  picnic  somewhere, 
and  as  the  bridges  were  down  they  were  there  for 
the  night. 

Do  you  think  they  went  to  bed? 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  found  some  canned  things 
in  a  pantry,  and  fixed  some  hot  drinks  and  drank  to 
Maisie  and  Roger.  And  I  sat  in  the  telephone  closet 
and  tried  not  to  sneeze. 

I  sat  there  for  two  hours. 

About  two  o'clock  I  heard  Maisie  say  she  would 
have  to  telephone  home,  and  if  a  totally  innocent 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     149 

person  can  suffer  the  way  I  did  I  don't  know  how 
a  guilty  one  could  live.  But  Roger  leaped  in  front 
of  her. 

"I'll  do  it,  honey,"  he  said.  "I — I  was  just  think 
ing  of  telephoning." 

They  were  close  to  the  door. 

"Don't  call  me  honey,"  Maisie  said  in  a  tense 
voice.  "I  know  about  Carrie  Smith's  party  and  who 
was  there.  After  the  way  Clara  has  schemed  all  these 
years  to  get  you  back,  to  have  you  fall  into  a  trap 
like  that!  It's  sickening!" 

She  put  her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door. 

"Listen,  darling,"  Roger  implored.  "I — I  don't 
care  a  hang  for  anyone  but  you.  I'm  perfectly 
wretched.  I " 

He  pulled  her  hand  off  the  knob  of  the  door  and 
I  heard  him  kiss  it. 

"Let  me  call  your  mother,"  he  said.  "She'll  know 
you  are  all  right  when  I'm  here." 

Well,  I  had  to  listen.  The  idea  of  her  saying  I'd 
tried  to  get  him  back,  when  everybody  knows  how 
he  carried  on  when  I  turned  him  down!  I  hadn't 
given  him  a  thought  for  years. 

"Did  you  make  love  to  Clara1?" 

"Certainly  not.  Look  here,  Maisie,  you  can  af 
ford  to  be  magnanimous.  Clara's  a  nice  woman,  but 
she's  years  older  than  you  are.  You  know  who  loves 
you,  don't  you1?" 


150 AFFINITIES 

Positively  he  was  appealing.  He  sounded  fairly 
sick. 

"Get  mother  on  the  wire,"  said  Maisie  curtly. 
"Then  call  me.  I'll  talk  to  her." 

Roger  opened  the  door  as  soon  as  she  had  gone 
and  squeezed  in  beside  me. 

"She's  coming  to  telephone.  You'll  have  to  go 
somewhere  else,  Clara,"  he  said. 

"Where,  for  instance?" 

"I  may  be  able  to  collect  them  in  the  pantry. 
Then  you  can  run  across  and  get  out  the  door." 

"Into  the  rain?" 

"Well,  you  can't  stay  here,  can  you?" 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Go  and  tell  her 
the  wires  are  down.  They  are.  And  then  get  that 
crowd  of  flappers  upstairs.  If  they  go  the  men  will. 
I  give  you  ten  minutes.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
I'm  coming  out  to  the  fire.  I'm  cold." 

"And  after  they  go  up,  what?" 

"Then  you're  going  into  somebody's  room  to  steal 
me  a  pair  of  dry  shoes.  Get  Maisie's,  she's  about 
my  size.  We'll  have  to  walk  to  mother's." 

"I  can't  leave,  Clara.  If  anything  happened  and 
I  was  missing " 

When  I  said  nothing  he  knew  I  was  in  earnest. 
He  went  out  and  told  them  the  telephone  was  out 
of  order,  and  somehow  or  other  he  shooed  them  up 
stairs.  I  opened  the  door  of  the  telephone  closet  for 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     151 

air,  and  I  could  hear  them  overhead,  ragging  Roger 
about  the  engagement  and  how  he  happened  to  get 
to  Maisie's  when  it  was  so  far  from  his  road  home. 
Every  time  I  thought  they  were  settled,  some  fool 
of  a  boy  or  giggling  debutante  would  come  down 
again  and  look  for  soap,  or  towels,  or  matches,  or 
heaven  knows  what.  I  could  have  strangled  the  lot 
of  them. 

By  three  o'clock  it  was  fairly  quiet,  and  I  crept 
out  and  sat  by  the  log  fire.  If  I  had  had  a  shoe 
I  would  have  started  off  then  and  there.  I'm  no 
coward  and  I  was  desperate.  But  I  couldn't  go  in 
my  silk  stockings.  And  when  after  a  while  Roger 
slipped  down  the  stairs  he  had  no  shoes  for  me. 

"I've  tried  all  the  girls'  doors,"  he  said  wretched 
ly,  "and  they're  locked.  Couldn't  you  tie  a  towel 
round  your  foot,  or  something?  I'm  going  to  get 
into  trouble  over  this  thing  yet.  I  feel  it." 

"Go  up  and  bring  me  little  Teddy  Robinson's 
shoes,"  I  snapped.  "It  won't  compromise  you  to  go 
into  his  room,  I  daresay." 

"What  if  he's  not  asleep*?" 

"Tell  him  you're  going  to  clean  them.  Tell  him 
anything.  And,  Roger,  don't  let  Maisie  pull  the 
ingenue  stunt  on  you.  I  may  be  years  older  than 
she  is,  but  Maisie's  no  child." 

Well,  with  everyone  gone  and  Roger  hunting  me 
some  boots,  I  felt  rather  better.  I  went  to  the  pantry 


152 AFFINITIES 

and  fixed  some  hot  milk  and  carried  it  in  to  drink 
by  the  fire.  Roger  came  down  with  the  boots,  and 
to  save  time  he  laced  them  on  my  feet  while  I  sat 
back  and  sipped. 

That,  of  course,  in  spite  of  what  Bill  pretends  to 
think,  is  why  Roger  was  on  his  knees  before  me 
when  Peter  walked  in. 

Oh,  yes,  Peter  Arundel  walked  in!  It  just  shows 
the  sort  of  luck  I  played  in  that  night.  He  walked 
in  and  slammed  the  door. 

"Thank  heaven!"  he  said,  and  stalked  over  to 
me  and  jerked  the  cup  out  of  my  hand.  "You 
pair  of  idiots!"  he  fairly  snarled.  "What  sort  of 
an  escapade  is  this  anyhow?" 

"It — it's  a  joke,  Peter,"  I  quavered.  He  stared 
at  me  in  speechless  scorn.  "Positively  it  is  a  joke, 
Peter." 

"I  daresay,"  he  said  grimly.  "Perhaps  to-mor 
row  I  may  see  it  that  way.  The  question  is,  will 
Bill  think  it's  a  joke?" 

He  looked  round,  and  luckily  for  me  he  saw  all 
the  girls'  wraps  lying  about. 

"If  the  family's  here,  Clara,"  he  said  in  a  milder 
voice,  "I — I  may  be  doing  you  an  injustice." 

Roger  had  not  said  a  word.  He  was  standing  in 
front  of  the  fire,  watching  the  stairs. 

"When  we  found  the  note,"  Peter  went  on  in  his 
awful  booming  voice,  "saying  you  were  going  at  last 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     153 

to  be  true  to  yourself,  and  when  you  and  Roger  had 
disappeared,  what  were  we  to  think*?  Especially 
after  the  way  you  two  had  fallen  into  each  other's 
arms  from  the  moment  you  met." 

"How  interesting!"  said  a  voice  from  the  stair 
case. 

It  was  Maisie ! 

Well,  what's  the  use  of  going  into  it  again?  She 
gave  Roger  his  ring  instantly,  and  Roger  was  posi 
tively  grey.  He  went  back  on  me  without  a  particle 
of  shame — said  I'd  suggested  the  whole  thing  and 
begged  him  to  help  me;  that  he'd  felt  like  a  fool 
the  whole  time. 

"Maisie,  darling,"  he  said,  "surely  you  know  that 
there's  nobody  in  all  the  world  for  me  but  you." 

He  held  out  the  ring  to  her,  but  she  shook  her 
head. 

"I'm  not  angry — not  any  more,"  she  said.  "I've 
lost  my  faith  in  you,  that's  all.  One  thing  I'm  pro 
foundly  grateful  for — that  you  and  Clara  had  this 
— this  explosion  before  we  were  married  and  not 
after." 

"Maisie!"  he  cried. 

All  at  once  I  remembered  Bill's  letter,  which 
would  positively  clear  us.  But  Peter  said  Harry 
Delaney's  coat  had  been  stolen  from  the  machine, 
letter  and  all!  Maisie  laughed  at  that,  as  if  she 
didn't  believe  there  had  been  such  a  letter,  and 


154 AFFINITIES 

Roger  went  a  shade  greyer.  All  at  once  it  came  to 
me  that  now  Bill  would  never  forgive  me.  He  is  so 
upright,  Bill  is,  and  he  expects  everyone  to  come  up 
to  his  standard.  And  in  a  way  Bill  had  always  had 
me  on  a  pedestal,  and  he  would  never  believe  that 
I  had  been  such  a  fool  as  to  jump  off  for  a  lark. 

Maisie  turned  and  walked  upstairs,  leaving  the 
three  of  us  there,  Roger  holding  the  ring  and  staring 
at  it  with  a  perfectly  vacant  face.  At  last  he  turned 
and  went  to  the  door. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Roger*?"  I  asked  help 
lessly. 

"I'm  going  out  to  drown  myself,"  he  said,  and 
went  out. 

I  shall  pass  over  the  rest  briefly.  Peter  took  me 
home  in  his  car.  I  did  not  go  to  mother's.  For  one 
thing,  the  bridge  was  down.  For  another,  it  seemed 
better  for  Bill  and  me  to  settle  things  ourselves  with 
out  family  interference. 

I  went  home  and  went  to  bed,  and  all  day  Mon 
day  I  watched  for  Bill.  Powell  came  over  and  I  put 
on  my  best  negligee  and  waited,  with  a  water  bottle 
to  keep  my  feet  warm  and  my  courage  up. 

He  did  not  come. 

I  stayed  in  bed  for  three  days,  and  there  was  not 
a  sign  from  him.  Carrie  and  Ida  telephoned,  but 
only  formal  messages,  and  Alice  Warrington  sent 
me  a  box  of  flowers  with  her  card.  But  Bill  did 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     155 

not  come  home  or  call  up.  I  knew  he  must  be  stay 
ing  at  the  club,  and  I  had  terrible  hours  when  I 
knew  he  would  never  forgive  me,  and  then  there 
would  be  a  divorce,  and  I  wanted  to  die.  Roger 
never  gave  a  sign,  but  he  had  not  drowned  himself. 

Wednesday  evening  came,  and  no  Bill.  By  that 
time  I  knew  it  was  Bill  or  nobody  for  me.  After 
those  terrible  two  days  at  Carrie's,  the  thought  of 
Bill's  ugly,  quiet  face  made  me  perfectly  homesick 
for  him.  I  didn't  care  how  much  he  fell  asleep  in 
the  evening  after  dinner.  That  only  showed  how 
contented  he  was.  And  I  tried  to  imagine  being 
married  to  Roger,  and  seeing  him  fuss  about  his  ties, 
and  brush  the  hair  over  the  thin  places  on  top  of 
his  head,  and  I  simply  couldn't. 

It  was  Wednesday  evening  when  I  heard  a  car 
come  up  the  drive.  I  knew  at  once  that  it  was  Bill. 
I  had  barely  time  to  turn  out  all  the  lights  but  the 
pink-shaded  one  by  the  bed,  and  to  lay  a  handker 
chief  across  my  eyes,  when  he  came  in. 

"Well,  Clara,"  he  said,  standing  just  inside  the 
door,  "I  thought  we'd  better  talk  this  over." 

"Bill!"  I  said,  from  under  the  handkerchief. 

"I  should  have  come  out  sooner,"  he  said  with 
out  moving,  "but  at  first  I  could  not  trust  myself. 
I  needed  a  little  time." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"That  doesn't  matter,  does  it"?    Everybody  knows 


156 AFFINITIES 

it.  But  that's  not  the  question.  The  real  issue  is 
between  you  and  me  and  that — that  nincompoop, 
Waite." 

"What  has  Roger  got  to  do  with  it?"  I  looked 
out  from  under  the  handkerchief,  and  he  was  livid, 
positively. 

"Bill,"  I  said  desperately,  "will  you  come  over 
and  sit  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed  and  let  me  tell 
you  the  whole  story?" 

"I  won't  be  bamboozled,  Clara;  this  is  serious. 
If  you've  got  anything  to  say,  say  it.  I'll  sit  here." 

He  sat  down  just  inside  the  door  on  a  straight 
chair  and  folded  his  long  arms.  It  was  a  perfectly 
hopeless  distance. 

"Bill !"  I  said  appealingly,  and  he  came  over  and 
sat,  very  uncompromising  and  stiff,  on  the  side  of 
the  bed.  I  put  out  my  hand,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  took  it,  but  I  must  say  without  en 
thusiasm.  I  felt  like  the  guiltiest  wretch  unhung. 
That's  what  makes  me  so  perfectly  furious  now. 

"You  see,  Bill,"  I  said,  "it  was  like  this."  And 
I  told  him  the  whole  thing.  About  halfway  through 
he  dropped  my  hand. 

"It's  been  an  awful  lesson,  Bill,"  I  ended  up. 
"I'll  never  say  a  word  again  about  your  enjoying 
yourself  the  way  you  want  to.  You  can  swim  and 
play  golf  and  shoot  all  you  like,  and — and  sleep 


CLARA'S  LITTLE  ESCAPADE     157 

after  dinner,  if  you'll  only  forgive  me.  Bill,  sup 
pose  I  had  married  Roger  Waite !" 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"So  that  was  it,  old  dear!"  he  said.  "Well,  all 
right.  We'll  put  the  whole  thing  in  the  discard." 
And  he  leaned  over  and  put  his  arms  round  me. 


That  ought  to  be  the  end  of  the  story.  I'd  hacl  a 
lesson  and  so  had  some  of  the  others.  As  Carrie 
Smith  said  afterward,  to  have  a  good  time  is  one 
thing,  but  to  be  happy  is  entirely  different,  and  the 
only  way  to  be  happy  is  to  be  smug  and  conven 
tional  and  virtuous.  I  never  say  anything  when  she 
starts  that  line  of  conversation.  But  once  or  twice 
I've  caught  her  eye,  and  she  has  had  the  grace  to 
look  uneasy. 

But  that's  not  all.  There  is  more  to  the  story,  and 
now  and  then  I  eye  Bill,  and  wonder  when  he  will 
come  and  tell  me  the  whole  thing.  For  the  other 
day,  in  the  back  of  Bill's  chiffonier,  I  came  across 
the  letter  to  him  Harry  Delaney  said  he  had  lost. 
And  Bill  had  received  it  Monday  morning! 

That  is  not  all.  Clamped  to  it  was  a  note  from 
Peter  Arundel,  and  that  is  why  I  am  writing  the 
whole  story,  using  names  and  everything.  It  was  a 
mean  trick,  and  if  Bill  wants  to  go  to  Maisie  Brown's 
wedding  he  can  go.  I  shall  not. 


158 AFFINITIES 

This  is  Peter's  note: 

"Dear  Old  Man:  Inclosed  is  the  letter  Clara  gave 
Delaney  to  mail,  which  I  read  to  you  last  night  over 
the  long-distance  phone.  I'm  called  away  or  I'd 
bring  it  round. 

"It  was  easy  enough  for  you  to  say  not  to  let 
Clara  get  away  with  it,  but  for  a  time  during  the 
storm  it  looked  as  if  she'd  got  the  bit  and  was  off. 
Luckily  their  car  got  stuck  in  the  creek,  and  the  rest 
was  easy.  We  saw  them,  during  a  flash  of  lightning, 
climbing  the  hill  to  the  Brown  place  for  shelter. 
Luck  was  with  us  after  that,  for  Maisie  and  a  crowd 
came  along,  and  we  told  Maisie  the  story.  I  take 
my  hat  off  to  Maisie.  She's  a  trump.  If  you  could 
have  seen  Roger  Waite's  face  when  she  gave  him 
back  the  ring !  Carrie,  who  was  looking  through  the 
windows  with  the  others,  was  so  sorry  for  him  that 
she  wanted  to  go  in  and  let  him  cry  on  her  shoulder. 

"I  hope  Clara  didn't  take  cold.  She  must  have 
been  pretty  wet.  But  you  were  quite  right.  It 
wasn't  only  that  she'd  have  had  the  laugh  on  all 
of  us  if  she  got  away  with  it.  As  you  said,  it  would 
be  a  bad  precedent. 

"Burn  this,  for  the  love  of  Mike.  If  Clara  sees  it 
she'll  go  crazy.  Yours,  PETER." 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE 


AND  the  things  the  balloon  man  said !"  observed 
Daphne,  stirring  her  tea.  Daphne  is  my  Eng 
lish  cousin,  and  misnamed.  "He  went  too  high  and 
Poppy's  nose  began  to  bleed." 

"It  poured,"  Poppy  confirmed  plaintively  to  me. 
"I  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  basket  and  it  poured. 
And  the  next  day  the  papers  said  it  had  rained  blood 
in  Tooting  and  that  quantities  of  people  had  gone 
to  the  churches !"  Poppy  is  short  and  wears  her  hair 
cut  close  and  curled  with  an  iron  all  over  her  head. 
She  affects  plaids. 

"Then,"  Daphne  went  on,  addressing  the  room  in 
general,  "he  let  some  gas  out  of  the  bag  and  we  be 
gan  to  settle.  But  just  when  we  were  directly  over 
the  Tower  he  grew  excited  and  threw  out  sand.  He 
said  he  wasn't  going  to  hang  his  balloon  on  the 
Houses  of  Parliament  like  a  penny  ornament  on  a 
Christmas  tree.  And  then  the  wind  carried  us  north 
and  we  missed  it  altogether." 

Mrs.  Harcourt-Standish  took  a  tea-cake.     I  was 

1*1 


162 AFFINITIES 

sea-sick,"  she  remarked  pensively,  "and  he  was  un 
pleasant  about  that,  too.  It  was  really  mountain 
sickness,  although,  of  course,  there  wasn't  any  moun 
tain.  When  we  began  to  throw  out  the  handbills 
he  asked  if  I  had  swallowed  them,  too." 

Mrs.  Harcourt-Standish  plays  up  the  feminine. 
She  is  slim  and  blond,  and  wears  slinky  clothes  and 
a  bang — only  they  call  it  a  fringe — across  her  fore 
head.  She  has  been  in  prison  five  times  and  is  sup 
posed  to  have  influence  with  the  Cabinet.  She 
showed  me  a  lot  of  photographs  of  herself  in  the 
dock  and  in  jail,  put  up  in  a  frame  that  was  made 
to  represent  a  barred  window.  It  was  Violet  Har 
court-Standish,  you  remember,  who  broke  up  the 
meeting  of  the  Woman's  Liberty  League,  the  rival 
Suffragette  association,  by  engaging  the  suite  below 
their  rooms,  burning  chemicals  in  the  grates,  and 
sending  in  a  fire  alarm  when  the  smoke  poured  out 
of  the  windows. 

I  had  been  in  England  visiting  Daphne  for  four 
months  while  Mother  went  to  Italy,  and  I  had  had 
a  very  queer  time.  One  was  apt  to  go  shopping  with 
Daphne  and  end  up  on  a  carriage  block  or  the  box 
of  a  hansom  cab,  passing  out  handbills  about  votes 
for  women.  And  once,  when  we  dressed  in  our  best 
gowns  and  went  to  a  reception  for  the  Cabinet,  or 
something  of  the  kind,  Daphne  stood  on  the  stairs 
and  began  to  make  a  speech.  It  turned  out  that  she 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        163 

hadn't  been  invited  at  all  and  they  put  her  out  im 
mediately — politely,  but  firmly.  I  slid  away  into 
the  crowd,  quite  pale  with  the  shock  and  disgrace, 
and  stood  in  a  corner,  waiting  to  be  arrested  and 
searched  for  the  spoons.  But  for  a  long  time  no 
one  noticed  me.  Then  a  sunburned  gentleman  who 
was  passing  in  the  crowd  saw  me,  hesitated  and 
came  back. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  and  my  heart  turned  en 
tirely  over,  "but  I  think  you  came  with  Miss  Wynd- 
ham?  If  you  will  allow  me " 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  made  a  mistake,"  I  re 
plied  frigidly,  with  my  lips  stiff  with  fright.  He 
bowed  at  that  and  passed  on,  but  not  before  he  had 
looked  straight  into  my  eyes  and  read  the  lie  there. 

After  ages  I  left  the  window  where  I  had  taken 
shelter  and  got  somehow  to  the  dressing-room.  Of 
course,  Daphne  had  taken  the  carriage,  so  I  told  a 
sad-eyed  maid  that  I  was  ill  and  would  not  wait  for 
my  brougham,  and  to  call  a  cab.  I  was  perfectly 
numb  with  rage  when  I  got  to  Daphne's  apartment, 
and  burst  in  like  a  whirlwind.  But  Daphne  was  not 
at  home.  She  came  in  at  three  that  morning,  maud 
lin  with  triumph,  and  found  me  asleep  on  the  floor 
in  my  ball-gown,  with  a  half-packed  trunk  before 
me. 

She  brought  me  tea  and  toast  herself  the  next 
morning  and  offered  it  on  her  knees,  which  means 


164 AFFINITIES 

something  for  Daphne — she  is  very  stout  and  almost 
unbendable — and  explained  that  I  had  been  her 
patent  of  respectability,  and  that  it  had  been  a  coup; 
that  Mrs.  Langley,  of  the  Woman's  Liberty  League, 
had  hired  as  a  maid  for  the  reception  and  had  never 
got  her  foot  out  of  the  dressing-room!  Red  hair? 
Yes.  And  when  I  told  Daphne  that  Mrs.  Langley 
had  helped  me  into  my  wrap  she  got  up  heavily  and 
hopped  three  steps  one  way  and  three  another,  which 
is  the  way  Daphne  dances  with  joy. 

I  am  afraid  I  have  digressed.  It  is  much  harder 
to  write  a  thing  than  to  tell  it.  I  used  to  write 
stories  for  our  Journal  at  school  and  the  girls  were 
mad  over  them.  But  they  were  love  stories,  and 
this  one  deals  with  English  politics  and  criminals — 
yes,  you  might  call  it  a  crime  story.  Of  course  there 
is  love,  too,  but  it  comes  in  rather  unexpectedly. 

I  left  Daphne  hopping  three  steps  each  way  in 
triumph.  Well,  after  that  she  did  not  take  me 
around  with  her,  although  her  friends  came  in  and 
talked  about  The  Cause  to  me  quite  often.  And 
gradually  I  began  to  see  that  there  was  something 
to  it,  and  why,  if  I  paid  taxes,  shouldn't  I  vote1? 
And  hadn't  I  as  much  intelligence  as  the  cab  drivers 
and  street  sweepers'?  And  why  couldn't  I  will  my 
money  to  my  children  if  I  ever  had  any*? — children, 
not  money.  Of  course,  as  Father  pointed  out  after 
ward,  I  should  have  been  using  my  abilities  in 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       165 

America;  but  most  of  the  American  women  I  knew 
were  so  cravenly  and  abjectly  contented.  But  even 
after  my  conversion  Daphne  would  not  take  me  in 
the  balloon.  She  said  I  represented  too  much  money 
to  risk  dumping  in  the  Thames  or  hanging  on  a 
chimney. 

The  meeting  at  Daphne's  was  mainly  to  talk  over 
the  failure  of  the  balloon  ascension  and  to  plan 
something  new.  But  the  actual  conspiracy  that  fol 
lowed  was  really  an  accident.  It  came  about  in  the 
most  casual  way. 

Violet  Harcourt-Standish  got  up  and  went  to  the 
mirror  to  put  on  her  veil,  and  some  of  the  people 
began  to  gather  their  wraps. 

"I'm  tired,"  Daphne  said  suddenly.  "We  don't 
seem  to  get  anywhere.  We  always  come  out  the 
door  we  go  in." 

"Sometimes  forcibly,"  Poppy  said  to  me  aside. 

"And  I  haven't  been  strong,  you  know,  since  last 
summer,"  Daphne  went  on.  Everybody  nodded 
sympathetically.  Daffie  had  raised  a  disturbance 
when  Royalty  was  laying  a  cornerstone  and  had  been 
jailed  for  it.  (They  put  her  to  making  bags  and  she 
sewed  "Votes  for  Women"  in  white  thread  on  every 
bag  she  made.)  "I  am  going  to  take  Madge  down 
to  Ivry  for  a  week."  I  am  Madge. 

Violet  turned  from  the  mirror  and  raised  her  eye 
brows.  "Ivry !"  she  said.  "How  familiar  it  sounds! 


166 AFFINITIES 

Do  you  remember,  Daphne,  when  pressure  at  the 
Hall  became  too  strong  for  me,  how  I  used"  to  ride 
over  to  Ivry  and  have  hysterics  in  the  Tudor  Room? 
And  how  once  I  wept  on  your  Louis-Seize  divan  and 
had  to  have  the  purple  stains  bleached  off  my  face*? 
You  lived  a  sort  of  vicarious  matrimonial  existence 
in  those  days,  didn't  you?" 

Whatever  she  may  have  done  to  the  Louis-Seize 
divan  in  earlier  days,  she  was  cheerful  enough  now, 
and  I  hailed  her  with  delight. 

"Do  you  live  near  Ivry?"  I  exclaimed.  "How 
jolly!"  That  is  English;  I  am  frightfully  English 
in  my  speech  after  a  few  weeks  in  London." 

Somebody  laughed  and  Daphne  chuckled.  It 
isn't  especially  feminine  to  chuckle,  but  neither  is 
Daphne. 

"My  dear  child,"  Mrs.  Harcourt-Standish  said, 
turning  to  me,  "Harcourt  Hall  is  closed.  Mr.  Har- 
court  is  no  longer  my  husband.  The  one  is  empty, 
the  other  in  Canada" — vague,  but  rhetorical — "I 
have  forgotten  them  both."  There  was  nothing 
ambiguous  about  that.  "I  recall  the  house  as  miles 
from  everything  that  was  joyful.  I  shall  always  re 
gard  my  being  taken  there  as  nothing  short  of  kid 
napping." 

Then — she  stopped  short  and  glanced  at  Daphne. 
From  Daphne  her  eyes  travelled  to  Ernestine  Sut- 
cliffe,  who  put  down  her  teacup  with  a  clatter.  There 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        167 

i  - 

was  a  sudden  hushed  silence  in  the  room ;  then  Lady 
Jane  Willoughby,  who  had  been  tying  her  motor 
veil,  took  it  off  and  folded  it  in  her  lap.  The  Staf- 
fords,  Poppy  and  her  mother,  exchanged  glances. 
Without  in  the  least  understanding  it  I  saw  that 
something  psychological  was  happening. 

"Why  not?"  said  Daphne  quietly,  looking  around. 
"The  house  is  still  furnished,  isn't  it,  Violet?  And 
I  suppose  you  could  get  in?" 

Violet  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  dare  say;  as 
I  recall  it,  one  could  enter  any  one  of  the  doors  by 
merely  leaning  against  it.  The  place  is  a  million 
years  old." 

Everybody  talked  at  once  for  a  few  minutes.  I 
gave  up  trying  to  understand  and  took  a  fresh  tea- 
cake.  Then  I  noticed  Lady  Willoughby.  In  all 
that  militant  body,  whatever  adventure  was  afoot, 
hers  was  the  only  craven  soul.  She  was  picking  at 
her  veil  with  nervous  fingers. 

"I — don't  you  think  it  is  very  radical?"  she  ven 
tured  when  she  could  be  heard.  Here  Mrs.  Stafford 
objected  to  the  word  "radical,"  and  she  substituted 
"revolutionary."  "I  should  not  wish  anything  to 
happen  to  him.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  Willough- 
by's  mother  while  she  lived." 

"That's  all  right  among  ourselves,  Jane,"  Mrs. 
Stafford  put  in,  "but  if  I  recall  the  circumstances  I 


168 AFFINITIES 

wouldn't  lay  any  emphasis  on  that.  Anyhow,  we 
don't  intend  to  murder  the  man." 

Lady  Jane  was  only  partially  reassured.  "Of 
course,  you  wouldn't  mean  to,"  she  retorted,  "but 
there  is  no  use  asking  me  to  forget  what  Poppy  Staf 
ford  did  to  the  president  of  the  Board  of  Trade 
last  summer." 

Poppy  glanced  up  and  shook  her  curls.  "You  are 
envious,  Willieboy,"  she  said,  and  put  four  lumps  of 
sugar  in  her  tea.  "Willieboy"  is  Lady  Willoughby's 
affectionate  diminutive.  They  had  started  the  tea 
all  over  again  and  I  rather  edged  away  from  Poppy, 
but  Daphne  said  afterward  it  was  only  a  matter  of 
a  chair  Poppy  threw  from  the  gallery  at  a  public 
meeting,  and  that  the  man  it  fell  on  was  only  a  sec 
retary  to  the  president  of  the  Board  of  Trade. 

Finally,  I  made  out  what  the  plan  was,  and 
mentally  during  the  rest  of  the  meeting  I  was  making 
bags  in  jail. 

They  'were  going  to  abduct  the  Prime  Minister! 

Lady  Jane  had  stopped  looking  back  and  had  put 
her  hand  to  the  plow.  (This  sounds  well,  so  I  won't 
cut  it  out;  but  wasn't  it  Lot's  wife  that  looked  back? 
And  wasn't  that  before  the  day  of  plows?  Or  was 
it?)  And  it  was  she  who  finally  settled  the  whole 
thing,  for  it  seems  that  the  P.  M.  had  confided  to 
Lord  Willoughby  that  the  town  was  so  noisy  with 
Suffragettes  that  he  could  not  find  a  quiet  spot  for 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       16? 

a  rubber  of  bridge ;  that  since  the  balloon  incident  he 
slept  in  his  clothes  with  the  windows  shut  and 
locked;  and  that  since  the  latest  kitchen-maid  had 
turned  out  to  be  the  Honourable  Maude  Twombley, 
who  slipped  handbills  into  his  entrees  and  served 
warnings  hi  his  dessert,  he  was  going  to  travel, 
incognito  and  alone,  to  his  daughter's  place,  The 
Oaks,  outside  of  West  Newbury,  and  get  a  little 
sleep. 

And  West  Newbury  was  only  four  miles  from  the 
empty  Harcourt  Hall!  In  short,  as  Daphne  suc 
cinctly  put  it:  "Our  Jonah  was  about  to  jump 
voluntarily  overboard  from  the  ship  of  state  into  the 
whaleboned  jaws  of  the  Suffragette  whale." 

Everybody  went  mad  at  that  point,  but  as  they 
grew  excited  I  got  cold.  It  began  with  my  toes  and 
went  all  over  me. 

Ernestine  Sutcliffe  stood  on  one  of  Daphne's 
tulip-wood  and  marquetry  chairs  and  made  a  speech, 
gesticulating  with  her  cup  and  dripping  tea  on  me. 
And  then  somebody  asked  me  to  stand  up  and  say 
what  I  thought.  (I  have  never  really  spoken  hi 
public,  but  I  always  second  the  motions  in  a  little 
club  I  belong  to  at  home.  It  is  a  current-events  club 
— so  much  easier  to  get  the  news  that  way  than  to 
read  the  newspaper.) 

So  I  got  up  and  made  a  short  speech.  I  said:  "I 
am  only  a  feeble  voice  hi  this  clamour  of  outraged 


170 AFFINITIES 

womanhood  against  the  oppressor,  Man.  I  believe 
in  the  franchise  for  women,  the  ballot  instead  of  the 
ballet.  But  at  home,  in  America,  when  we  want  to 
take  a  bath  we  don't  jump  off  the  Brooklyn  Bridge 
into  the  East  River  to  do  it." 

Then  I  sat  down.    Daphne  was  raging. 

"You  are  exceedingly  vulgar,"  she  said,  "but  since 
you  insist  on  that  figure  of  speech,  you  in  America 
have  waited  a  long  time  for  the  bath,  and  if  you 
continue  your  present  methods  you  won't  get  it  be 
fore  you  need  it." 

II 

Now  that  they  had  thought  of  it,  they  were  all 
frantic  for  fear  Mrs.  Cobden-Fitzjames  and  the 
Woman's  Liberty  League  might  think  of  it,  too, 
kidnap  the  Prime  Minister,  and  leave  us  a  miserable 
president  of  the  Local  Government  Board  or  a 
wretched  under-secretary  of  something  or  other. 

The  plan  we  evolved  before  the  meeting  broke  up 
was  to  send  a  wire  to  Mrs.  Gresham,  the  Premier's 
daughter,  that  he  had  been  delayed,  and  to  meet  a 
later  train.  Then,  Daphne's  motor  would  meet  the 
proper  train — he  was  to  arrive  somewhere  between 
seven  and  eight  in  the  evening — carry  his  Impres- 
siveness  to  Harcourt  Hall  and  deliver  him  into  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  As  Violet  Harcourt-Standish 
voiced  it:  the  motor  gone,  the  railway  miles  away, 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        171 

what  can  he  do?  He  will  keep  awake,  because  he 
will  have  slept  in  the  train  going  down,  and  we  can 
give  him  a  cold  supper.  Nothing  heavy  to  make  him 
drowsy.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  not  to  give  him 
anything.  (Hear!  Hear!)  Then,  six  speeches,  each 
an  hour  long.  At  the  end  of  that  time  we  can  prom 
ise  him  something  to  eat  and  a  machine  to  take  him 
to  West  Newbury  on  one  condition.  Every  one 
looked  up.  "He  must  sign  an  indorsement  of  Suf 
frage  for  Women."  (Loud  applause.) 

"Why  not  have  a  table  laid,"  I  suggested,  "and 
show  it  to  him*?  Let  him  smell  it,  so  to  speak. 
Visualise  your  temptation.  You  know, — 'And  the 
devil '  " 

"This  is  the  Prime  Minister,  Madge,"  Daphne 
broke  in  shortly,  "and  you  are  not  happy  in  your 
Scriptural  references." 

Things  went  along  with  suspicious  smoothness. 
Daphne  really  took  the  onus  of  the  whole  thing,  and, 
of  course,  I  helped  her. 

We  all  got  new  clothes,  for  everybody  knows 
that  if  you  can  attract  a  man's  eye  you  can  get  and 
maybe  hold  his  ear.  And  Daphne  wrote  a  fresh 
speech,  one  she  had  thought  out  in  jail.  It  began, 
"Words!  Words!!  Words!!!"  She  wrote  a  poem, 
too,  called  the  Song  of  the  Vote,  with  the  meter 
of  the  Song  of  a  Shirt,  and  she  wanted  me  to  recite 
it,  but  even  before  I  read  it  I  refused. 


172 AFFINITIES 

The  gown  Mother  had  ordered  for  me  at  Paquin's 
on  her  way  to  the  Riviera  came  just  in  time,  a  nice 
white  thing  over  silver,  with  a  square-cut  neck  and 
bits  of  sleeves  made  of  gauze  and  silver  fringe. 
Daphne  got  a  pink  velvet,  although  she  is  stout  and 
inclined  to  be  florid.  She  had  jet  butterflies  em 
broidered  over  it,  a  flight  of  them  climbing  up  one 
side  of  her  skirt  and  crawling  to  the  opposite 
shoulder,  so  that  if  one  stood  off  at  a  distance  she 
had  a  curiously  diagonal  appearance,  as  if  she  had 
listed  heavily  to  one  side. 

By  hurrying  we  got  to  Ivry  on  Thursday  evening, 
and  I  was  in  a  blue  funk.  Daphne  was  militantly 
cheerful,  and,  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  she 
put  the  finishing  touches  to  her  speech.  It  was 
warm  and  rainy,  and  I  wandered  aimlessly  around, 
looking  at  hideous  English  photographs  and  won 
dering  if  picking  oakum  in  an  English  jail  was  worse 
than  making  bags — and  if  they  could  arrest  me, 
after  all.  Could  they  touch  an  American  citizen1? 
(But  was  I  an  American  citizen1?  Perhaps  I  should 
have  been  naturalised,  or  something  of  that  kind!) 
And  I  thought  of  Mother  at  Florence,  in  the  villa  on 
the  Via  Michelangelo — Mother,  who  classes  Suf- 
'fragists  with  Anti-Vaccinationists  and  Theosophists. 

I  would  have  gone  up  to  bed,  but  that  meant  a 
candle  and  queer,  shaky  shadows  on  the  wall;  so  I 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        173 

stayed  with  Daphne  and  looked  at  the  picture  of  a 
young  man  in  a  uniform. 

"Basil  Harcourt,"  Daphne  said  absently,  with  a 
pen  in  her  mouth,  when  I  asked  about  it.  "Taken 
years  ago  before  he  became  an  ass.  How  do  you 
spell  'Supererogation'  *?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea,"  I  admitted.  "I  don't  even 
know  what  it  means.  I  always  confuse  it  with 
'eleemosynary'."  Daphne  grunted.  "Do  you  mean 
that  this  is  Violet's  husband?" 

"It  was — her  first.  Don't  ask  me  about  him :  he 
always  gives  me  indigestion.  The  man's  mad !  He 
stood  right  in  this  room,  where  he  had  eaten  my 
ginger-cakes  all  his  life  and  where  he  came  to  show 
me  his  first  Eton  collar  and  long  trousers,  and  told 
me  that  he  expected  The  Cause  for  his  wife  to  be 
himself,  and  if  she  would  rather  raise  hell  for  women 
than  a  family  of  children  she  would  have  to  choose 
at  once.  And  Violet  stood  just  where  you  are, 
Madge,  and  retorted  that  maternity  was  not  a  Cause, 
and  that  any  hen  in  the  barnyard  could  raise  a 
family. 

"  'I  suppose  you  want  to  crow,'  Basil  said  furi 
ously,  and  slammed  out.  He  went  to  Canada  very 
soon  after." 

"Then  perhaps  he  won't  like  our  using  his  house 
for  such  a  purpose.  If  he  isn't  in  sympathy " 

"Twaddle,"   Daphne  remarked,  poising  her  pen 


174 AFFINITIES 

to  go  on.  "In  the  first  place,  it  isn't  a  house — itTs 
a  rattletrap;  and  in  the  second  place,  he  won't  know 
a  thing  about  it." 

It  was  all  very  tragic.  I  was  thinking  of  them 
when  I  went  out  on  the  terrace  in  Daphne's  mackin 
tosh.  The  air  was  damp  and  sticky,  but  it  was  bet 
ter  than  Daphne's  conversation.  I  stood  in  the  foun 
tain  court,  leaning  against  a  column  and  listening  to 
the  spray  as  it  blew  over  on  to  the  caladium  leaves. 

I  am  not  sure  just  when  I  saw  the  figure.  First 
it  was  part  of  the  gloom,  a  deeper  shadow  in  the 
misty  garden.  I  saw  it,  so  to  speak,  out  of  the  tail 
of  my  eye.  When  I  looked  directly  there  was  noth 
ing  there.  Finally,  I  called  softly  over  my  shoulder 
to  Daphne,  but  she  did  not  hear.  Instead,  the 
shadow  disengaged  itself,  moved  forward  and  re 
solved  into  Bagsby,  Daphne's  chauffeur. 

"I  wasn't  sure  at  first  that  you  saw  me,  Miss,"  he 
said,  touching  his  cap.  "It's  my  turn  until  mid 
night;  Clarkson  'as  it  until  three,  and  the  gardener 
until  daylight." 

"Good  gracious !"  I  gasped.  "Do  you  mean  you 
are  guarding  the  house?" 

"Perhaps  it's  more  what  you  would  call  surveil 
lance,"  he  said  cautiously,  "the  picture  gallery  being 
over  your  head,  Miss,  and  an  easy  job  from  the 
conservatory  roof.  We  'aven't  told  Miss  Wynd- 
ham,  yet,  Miss,  but  the  Wimberley  Romney  was 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       175 

stolen  from  the  Towers  last  night,  Miss,  and  the 
whole  countryside  is  up." 

"The  Romney?"  I  inquired.  "Do  you  mean  a 
painting4?" 

"Yes,  Miss,"  he  said  patiently.  "Cut  out  of  its 
frame,  and  worth  twenty  thousand  pounds!  By  a 
gentlemanly-looking  chap — a  tourist  by  appear 
ances,  with  a  bicycle,  in  tweeds  and  knickers,  Miss." 

Whether  the  bicycle  or  the  tourist  wore  tweeds 
and  knickers  was  not  entirely  clear.  Bagsby  was 
saying  that  the  thief  was  supposed  to  be  hiding  on 
the  moor  when  Daphne  came  out,  and  he  disap 
peared. 

Poppy  Stafford  and  Ernestine  came  unexpectedly 
late  that  night  after  I  had  gone  to  bed.  I  was  in 
my  first  sleep  and  dreaming  that  Poppy  was  brain 
ing  Bagsby  with  a  gilt-framed  painting,  and  that  he 
was  shouting  "Votes  for  Women"  instead  of 
"'elp!"  when  somebody  knocked  at  my  door.  It 
turned  out  to  be  Poppy,  and  she  said  she  thought 
there  was  a  bat  in  her  room,  and  as  she  was  quite 
pallid  with  fright  I  let  her  get  into  my  bed.  I  was 
full  of  my  dream  and  I  wanted  to  ask  her  some 
particulars  about  the  man  she  had  brained  the  sum 
mer  before.  But  she  put  her  head  under  the  sheet, 
and  as  soon  as  she  stopped  trembling  she  went  to 
sleep. 

Daphne  called  me  early  and  we  went  over  to  the 


176 AFFINITIES 

Hall  to  take  a  look  around.  As  Daphne  said,  it 
would  be  night  and  the  grounds  would  not  matter, 
but  we  would  have  to  uncover  some  of  the  furniture. 
And  as  we  could  not  let  the  servants  know,  we  had 
to  do  it  ourselves.  We  took  a  brush  and  pan,  and 
tore  up  a  linen  sheet  to  dust  with.  Bagsby,  who  had 
been  bribed,  and  suspected  what  he  wasn't  told,  got 
the  brush  and  pan,  and  later  he  showed  us  a  pail  and 
a  piece  of  soap  in  the  tonneau. 

The  place  was  dreadful.  No  doubt  the  park  had 
been  lovely,  but  it  was  overshadowed  and  over 
grown.  The  hedges  were  untrimmed;  paths  began, 
wandered  around  and  died  in  a  mess  of  under 
growth  ;  and  the  terrace  had  lost  an  end  in  a  wilder 
ness  where  a  garden-house  was  falling  to  decay.  The 
fading  outlines  of  the  kitchen  garden  seemed  to 
shout  aloud  of  lost  domesticity,  and  over  every 
thing  lay  a  sodden  layer  of  the  previous  autumn's 
leaves.  (For  fear  I  am  accused  of  plagiarism,  the 
sentence  about  the  kitchen  garden  is  not  original. 
Madge.) 

Daphne  had  got  a  key  somewhere,  and  inside  it 
was  worse.  Coverings  over  the  pictures  and  furni 
ture,  six  years'  dust  everywhere,  and  a  smell  of 
mould  like  a  crypt  of  one  of  the  Continental  cathe 
drals,  only  not  so  ancestor-y.  While  we  were  tak 
ing  off  the  covers,  with  Bagsby's  help,  Daphne 
alternately  sang  and  coughed  in  the  dust. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        177 

"Why  aren't  you  more  cheerful*?"  she  demanded. 
"It  will  be  a  red-letter  day  for  The  Cause.  When  I 
think  of  Mabel  Fitzjames  I  almost  weep!" 

"I  think  it  must  be  because  I  am  not  used  to  it,'* 
I  said  meekly.  "You  see,  I  come  from  a  Republican 
country — and  Democratic,  too,  of  course — and  we 
don't  have  any  Prime  Ministers  to  steal.  One  has 
to  grow  accustomed  to  things  like  this  gradually, 
Daffie,  or  be  born  to  them.  And  then — I  lay  awake 
most  of  last  night,  wondering  what  would  happen 
if  he  didn't — er — see  the  joke,  you  know." 

Daphne  jerked  a  cover  from  a  moth-eaten  sofa 
and  sneezed  promptly  in  the  dust. 

"Joke !"  she  repeated  when  she  could  speak.  "No, 
I  don't  think  he  will  see  the  joke.  In  fact,  I  don't 
believe  he  will  think  there  is  any  joke  to  see.  If  I 
know  anything,  he  is  going  to  be  wild.  He's  going 
to  tear  his  hair  and  throw  the  vases  off  the  mantel. 
He's  going  to  use  language  that  you  never  heard — 
at  least,  I  hope  not." 

It  was  then  that  I  realised  that  I  was  not,  heart 
and  soul,  a  Suffragist.  If  I  had  only  had  the  cour 
age  to  have  spoken  up  then,  to  have  told  her  that  I 
didn't  feel  The  Cause  the  way  I  ought  to,  and  that 
I  hoped  to  get  married  and  have  dozens  of  children, 
and  that,  anyhow,  I  had  a  headache  and  I  thought 
I  ought  to  go  on  to  Italy  and  meet  Mother!  But, 
instead,  I  followed  her  around  like  a  sheep,  tacking 


178 AFFINITIES 

up  cards  with  Suffrage  mottoes  on  them  all  over  the 
drawing-room,  and  stretching  a  long  canvas  banner 
in  the  hall  across  the  back  of  a  great  Gothic  hall- 
seat,  with  "Votes  for  Women"  in  red  letters  on  it. 
Bagsby  brushed  out  a  sort  of  oasis  in  the  middle 
of  the  drawing-room  and  a  path  to  the  door,  and 
Daphne  and  I  dusted  seven  chairs  and  a  table.  We 
had  brought  over  a  duplex  lamp  and  some  candles, 
and  when  we  had  put  a  cover  on  the  table  the  middle 
of  the  room  looked  quite  habitable.  Then  Bagsby 
brushed  the  leaves  off  the  steps,  and  as  Daphne 
pleasantly  expressed  it : 

Won't  you  step  into  my  parlor? 
Said  the  spider  to  the  fly. 

Mrs.  Stafford,  Violet  and  Lady  Jane  arrived  that 
afternoon,  after  having  waited  to  send  the  wire  on 
which  the  conspiracy  was  hung.  They  put  them 
selves  into  negligees  and  the  hands  of  their  maids  at 
once,  and  were  still  dressing  when  Ernestine  and  I, 
the  advance  guard,  started  with  the  hamper  of  cold 
supper  at  half  after  six.  Things  went  wrong  from 
that  moment. 

Ernestine  started  to  recite  her  speech  to  me  as  we 
went  down  the  drive,  found  she  had  forgotten  every 
thing  but  the  first  sentence,  which  began,  like  The 
Walrus  and  the  Carpenter,  "The  time  has 
come "  and  had  to  go  back  for  the  manuscript. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       179 

We  had  to  leave  her  for  the  second  trip.  Bagsby, 
who  was  in  the  conspiracy  to  the  extent  of  five 
pounds,  took  me  over  alone  and  lighted  the  duplex 
lamp.  He  cut  the  telephone  wire,  also,  by  Daphne's 
order,  before  he  left.  We  were  not  leaving  anything 
to  chance,  although  the  thing  had  probably  been  dis 
connected  for  years. 

"I  'ardly  like  to  leave  you  'ere  alone,  Miss,"  he 
said  when  everything  was  ready.  It  was  growing 
dark  by  that  time  and  raining  again.  "Folks  is  al 
ways  ready  to  give  a  hempty  'ouse  a  black  eye,  so  to 
speak.  The  'All  ghost  isn't  what  you  might  call 
authenticated,  but  the  'ouse  isn't  'abitable  for  a  lady 
alone,  Miss." 

"I  am  not  at  all  nervous,"  I  quavered  as  he  went 
down  the  steps.  "Only — please  tell  them  to  hurry, 
Bagsby." 

I  called  to  him  again  as  he  climbed  into  the  car. 

"Oh,  Bagsby,"  I  said  nervously,  "I — I  suppose 
there  is  no  danger  of  the  picture  thief  being  around." 

"Not  for  pictures,  anyhow,  Miss,"  he  returned 
jocularly,  and  started  off. 

Not  for  pictures,  anyhow! 

I  stood  at  the  door  and  watched  the  tail  light  of 
the  motor  disappear  down  the  drive,  show  for  an 
instant  a  spark  by  the  dilapidated  lodge  and  then 
go  out  entirely. 


180  AFFINITIES 

— — _ — — — — — — — — — — -^— ^— — — — _ _ — ^ _ 

The  second  part  of  the  story  begins  about  here. 
The  first  part,  as  you  have  seen,  has  been  purely 
political:  the  rest  is  romance,  intermingled  with 
crime.  It  is  a  little  late  to  bring  in  a  hero,  but  to 
have  done  it  earlier  would  have  spoiled  the  story, 
besides  being  distinctly  untruthful.  And  I  suppose 
a  real  novelist  would  have  had  the  hero  turn  out  to 
be  the  sunburned  gentleman  of  some  pages  before; 
but  the  fact  is  he  wasn't,  and  I  never  saw  the  sun 
burned  gentleman  again. 

Well,  after  Bagsby  left,  and  I  had  examined  the 
supper  in  the  hamper  and  lighted  more  candles  in 
the  drawing-room,  I  began  to  wish  we  had  not  cut 
the  telephone  wire  so  soon.  It  was  perfectly  dark, 
and  any  one  could  step  in  through  the  windows — 
open  to  air  the  house — and  cut  my  throat  and  take 
my  string  of  pearls  which  Father  had  had  matched 
for  me  and  walk  away  calmly  and  be  safe  ten  feet 
from  the  house  in  the  undergrowth.  And  then 
Bagsby's  ghost  began  to  walk  in  my  mind  and  I 
quite  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  it  was  not  authenti 
cated. 

It  was  blowing  by  that  time,  and  every  joint  of 
the  rheumatic  old  house  creaked  and  groaned.  The 
candles  flickered  and  nearly  went  out,  and  the  motto 
cards  began  to  fly  around  the  room  as  if  carried  by 
invisible  fingers.  One  of  them  said,  "You  have 
been  weighed  and  found  wanting,"  and  another  one, 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        181 

"Beware!"  They  had  all  the  effect  of  spirit  mes 
sages  on  me.  When  I  tried  to  close  the  windows  I 
found  them  stuck  in  their  dilapidated  frames.  I 
wanted  desperately  to  hide  in  a  corner  behind  one 
of  the  high-backed  chairs,  but  it  was  dusty  there 
and  hardly  dignified  for  a  person  who  was  abducting 
the  Prime  Minister.  And  then  it  would  be  ignomini 
ous  to  faint  there  and  have  some  one  peer  over  the 
back  and  say:  "Why,  here  she  is!" 

So,  to  divert  my  mind  from  ghosts  and  gentle 
men  burglars  who  steal  pictures,  I  began  to  investi 
gate  the  hamper.  There  were  pate  and  salad  and 
sandwiches  and  quite  a  lot  of  stuff.  But  all  at  once 
I  remembered  that  Daphne  had  given  me  the  small 
silver  and  that  I  had  laid  it  on  my  bed  and  left  it 
there.  And  most  of  the  provisions  were  too  messy 
for  a  P.  M.  to  manage  with  his  fingers.  Luckily,  I 
remembered  something  Violet  had  said  when  Daphne 
gave  me  the  silver. 

"Personally,"  she  had  announced,  "I  am  not  in 
favor  of  feeding  him  at  all.  Or  else  I  would  give 
him  prison  fare.  But  if  you're  going  to  be  mushy 
over  him  you'll  probably  find  some  dishes  and  forks 
in  a  little  closet  over  the  dining-room  fire-place. 
They  were  kept  there  to  use  if  Basil  ever  went  down 
for  the  shooting,  and  I  dare  say  they  are  still  there." 

So  I  picked  up  a  candle  and  trembled  through 
the  darkness  toward  where  the  breakfast-room  ought 


182 AFFINITIES 

to  be.  I  went  through  a  square  garden-hall  which 
shook  when  I  did,  and  the  motor  coat  around  my 
shoulders  made  the  shadow  of  a  pirate  on  the  wall. 

I  found  the  breakfast-room  and  the  mantel  cup 
board  at  last,  and,  putting  the  candle  on  a  chair, 
stood  for  a  moment  listening,  my  hands  clapped  over 
my  heart.  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  walking  over 
bare  boards  near  by,  but  the  sounds,  whatever  they 
were,  ceased. 

The  mantel  cupboard  was  locked.  I  pulled  and 
twisted  at  the  knob  to  no  purpose.  Finally,  I  dug 
at  the  lock  with  a  hairpin,  and  something  gave;  the 
door  swung  open  with  a  squeak,  and  a  moment  later 
I  had  a  flannel  case  in  my  hands  and  was  taking  out 
some  silver  forks.  At  that  moment  a  plate  in  the 
cupboard  fell  forward  with  a  slam,  and  something 
leaped  on  to  the  forks,  which  I  dropped  with  a  crash. 
The  candle  went  out  immediately  and,  gasping  for 
breath,  I  backed  against  the  cupboard  and  stood 
staring  into  the  blackness  of  the  room. 

The  door  by  which  I  had  entered  was  a  faint,  yel 
lowish  rectangle  from  the  distant  hall  lamp.  That 
is,  it  had  been  a  rectangle.  It  was  partly  obscured 
now.  And  gradually  the  opacity  took  on  the  height 
and  breadth  and  general  outline  of  a  man.  He  was 
pointing  a  revolver  at  me ! 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       183 

III 

I  think  it  occurred  to  him  then  that  I  might  be 
pointing  something  at  him — not  knowing  that  my 
deadliest  weapon  was  a  silver  fork.  For  he  slid  in 
side  the  room  with  his  back  against  the  wall.  And 
there  we  stood,  backed  against  opposite  corners, 
staring  into  the  darkness,  and  I,  for  one,  totally  un 
able  to  speak.  Finally,  he  said:  "I  think  it  will  end 
right  here." 

"I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I  quavered, 
for  I  was  plainly  expected  to  say  something.  There 
was  another  total  silence,  which  I  learned  afterward 
was  inability  on  his  part  to  speak.  Then 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed;  and  then  again,  under 
his  breath:  "By  Jove!" 

(That  assured  me  somewhat.  "By  Jove"  is  so 
largely  a  gentleman's  exclamation.  If  he  had  said 
"Blow  me,"  which  is  English  lower  class,  or  "Shiver 
my  timbers,"  I  know  I  should  have  shivered  minea 
But  "By  Jove"  gave  me  courage.) 

He  fumbled  for  and  lighted  a  match  then,  and 
took  a  step  forward.  We  had  a  ghastly  glimpse  of 
each  other  before  the  match  went  out,  and  I  saw  he 
was  in  tweeds  and  knickers,  and  had  one  of  Daphne's 
sandwiches  in  his  left  hand.  He  saw  the  candle  then 
and,  stepping  forward,  he  lighted  it  where  it  stood 


184  AFFINITIES 


on  the  chair.  And  when  he  had  lighted  it  and  put 
it  on  the  table  he  actually  smiled  across  it. 

"I  am  not  sure  yet  that  I  am  awake,"  he  said 
easily.  "Please  don't  disappear.  The  sandwich 
seems  real  enough,  but  that's  the  way  in  dreams. 
You  find  something  delectable  and  wake  up  before 
you  taste  it.  You  see,  the  sandwich  is  gone  al 
ready." 

"You  dropped  it,"  I  said  as  calmly  as  I  could. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  lowering  the  candle  and  peering 
under  the  table.  "Ah,  here  it  is.  So  it  isn't  a  dream ! 
You  have  no  idea  how  many  times  I  have  dreamed  I 
was  finding  money — sovereigns,  you  know,  and  all 
that — and  wakened  at  the  psychological  moment." 
He  put  his  revolver  on  the  table,  took  a  bite  of  the 
sandwich  and  stared  at  me,  at  my  gown,  and  then  at 
my  pearls.  I  fancied  his  eyes  gleamed. 

I  did  not  speak;  I  was  listening  with  all  my  might 
for  the  car,  but  I  could  hear  nothing  but  the  patter 
of  the  rain  on  the  flagstones  outside. 

'Tm  afraid  I  have  startled  you,"  he  went  on,  still 
looking  at  me  with  uncomfortable  intentness.  "The 
fact  is,  I  was  asleep.  I  got  in  through  a  window  an 
hour  or  so  ago  after  a  day  and  a  night  on  the  moor. 
I  had  no  idea  there  was  anybody  here  until  you 
brushed  past  me  in  the  dark." 

The  moor !  Then  of  course  I  knew.  It  had  been 
dawning  on  me  slowly.  For  all  I  could  tell,  he  might 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        185 

have  had  the  Romney  under  his  coat  at  that  moment. 
I  put  my  hands  to  my  throat  for  air  because,  al 
though  he  was  smiling  and  pleasant  enough,  every 
body  knows  that  the  bigger  the  game  a  burglar 
makes  a  specialty  of  the  more  likely  he  is  to  look  and 
act  like  a  gentleman.  So,  because  he  seemed  to  ex 
pect  me  to  do  something,  I  unclasped  my  collar 
with  shaking  fingers  and  threw  it  to  him  across  the 
table. 

"Oh,  please  take  it  and  go  away,"  I  implored  him. 
"It — it  isn't  imitation,  anyhow,  and  Daphne  says — 
the  Romney  was." 

"Oh,"  he  said  slowly,  staring  at  the  pearls,  "so 
Daphne  says  the  Romney  was,  eh1?" 

He  ran  the  collar  through  his  fingers  as  if  his  con 
science  was  troubling  him  a  little.  Then,  "I  wouldn't 
care  to  pit  my  judgment  against  that  of  a  lady,"  he 
went  on  without  even  a  word  about  the  collar,  "but 
• — I  think  your  friend  Daphne  is  wrong."  His  eyes 
travelled  comprehensively  to  the  silver  on  the  floor. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said  whimsically — (this 
seems  the  only  word,  although — can  a  burglar  be 
whimsical1?) — "I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  you 
opened  that  cupboard  door.  It  was  locked  an  hour 
ago." 

"I  dare  say  it  was  very  unprofessional,"  I  said 
boldly — for  he  didn't  show  any  sign  of  trying  to 


186 AFFINITIES 

choke  me,  and  my  courage  was  returning,  "but — I 
did  it  with  a  hairpin.*' 

"Ah!"  He  was  thoughtful.  "And — I  suppose 
that  is  the  way  you  opened  the  front  entry  door, 
also?" 

"No.  Violet  had  a  key "  I  began.  Then  I 

stopped,  furious  at  myself. 

He  dropped  the  sandwich  again  and  took  a  step 
forward  with  his  eyes  narrowed. 

"Violet!"  he  said. 

It  seems  extraordinary,  looking  back,  to  think  I 
could  have  mistaken  him  for  a  theif  when  he  was 
something  else  altogether.  But  that  wasn't  the  only 
mistake  I  made.  I  could  scream  when  I  remember. 
He  was  not  at  all  like  his  picture,  and  because  I 
hadn't  recognised  him  as  Basil  Harcourt,  who  hated 
The  Cause,  I  had  lost  quantities  of  valuable  time. 

One  thinks  quickly  in  emergencies,  and  women 
have  one  advantage  over  men.  They  can  think  very 
hard  while  they  are  talking  about  an  entirely  dif* 
ferent  subject.  His  next  question  gave  me  a  cue. 
He  came  forward  and  leaned  on  the  table,  near  the 
candle.  I  could  see  he  was  not  very  old  after  all — 
not  nearly  so  old  as  I  had  expected. 

"I  know  it  isn't  my  affair  at  all,"  he  began,  half 
smiling,  "but — I  am  under  the  impression  that  the 
Hall  has  been  closed  for  some  years.  And  yet — I 
find  a  young  woman  here  alone,  surrounded  by — 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        187 

tr — dust  and  decay.  It's  a  sort  of  reversed  Sleep 
ing  Beauty  and  the  Prince.  You  should  have  been 
asleep.  As  you  say,  it  isn't  my  affair,  but — what  in 
the  world  brought  you  here*?" 

(When  I  told  this  afterward  Poppy  said:  "It 
sounds  exactly  like  him,  of  course.") 

"I  came  to  steal  the  silver,"  I  said  brazenly. 

That  was  my  plan,  you  see.  If  he  would  only 
take  me  away  and  give  me  in  charge  he  would  be 
safely  out  of  the  way  and  beyond  interfering.  And 
the  next  morning,  when  everything  was  over,  I 
would  tell  my  real  name  and  be  released,  and  every 
thing  would  be  over.  Something  had  to  be  done  at 
once,  for,  as  Daphne  said,  "to  kidnap  the  Prime 
Minister  would  be  a  coup  d'etat,  but  to  try  to  do  it 
and  fail  would  be  low  comedy." 

When  I  said  I  was  stealing  the  silver,  which  was 
certainly  not  worth  five  guineas,  Mr.  Harcourt  took 
a  step  back  and  caught  hold  of  a  chair. 

"Really!"  he  said.  And  then:  "But  what  in  the 
world  did  you  intend  doing  with  it? — if  you  don't 
mind  the  question." 

This  was  unexpected,  but  I  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"Melt  it,"  I  declared.  I  thought  this  was  in 
spired.  Don't  they  always  melt  down  stolen 
silver? 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  experi 
enced!"  Then  he  sat  down  suddenly  in  the  chair 


188 AFFINITIES 

and  coughed  very  hard  into  his  handkerchief.  But 
he  made  no  move  to  arrest  me. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  give  me  in  charge1?"  I  asked 
in  alarm,  for  time  was  flying.  He  put  away  his 
handkerchief. 

"Wouldn't  that  be  a  horrible  thing  for  me  to 
do?"  he  asked  gravely.  "Perhaps  it's  your  first  of 
fence,  you  know,  although  I  doubt  that.  You  seem 
so  capable  And  if  I  let  you  go  you  may  reform. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  there's  nothing  to  a  life  of 
crime  I  suppose  you — er — appropriated  the  string 
of  pearls  that  are  not  imitation*?" 

This  was  unexpected. 

"It  is  mine,  honestly  mine,  Mr.  Harcourt,*'  I  be 
gan.  He  glanced  at  me  when  I  called  him  by  name. 
Then  he  took  the  collar  out  and  looked  at  it.  "I 
shall  advertise  it,"  he  said  judicially  and  slid  it 
back  into  his  pocket.  "If  the  owner  offers  a  reward 
I  will  see  that  you  get  it — minus  the  newspaper 
costs,  of  course." 

Then — we  both  heard  it  at  the  same  moment — 
there  came  the  throb  of  the  machine  down  the  drive. 
He  raised  his  eyebrows  and  glanced  at  me.  "More 
people  after  the  silver,  probably,"  he  said,  and  picked 
up  the  candle.  I  slipped  after  him  to  the  entrance 
hall. 

Just  inside  the  door,  with  a  cordial  smile  of  greet 
ing  fading  into  a  blank,  stood  a  middle-aged  Eng- 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        189 

lish  gentleman,  rather  florid,  with  a  drooping,  sandy 
mo"c^che  and  thinnish  hair.  When  he  saw  me  the 
ghost  of  the  smile  returned. 

"I  am  sure  I  beg  your  pardon.  A — a  thousand 
apologies.  ,  That  cursed — hem — the  chauffeur  has 
made  a  beastly  mistake.  I  was  led  to  believe — I — 
that  is " 

He  was  staring  at  me.  Then  his  eye  struck  the 
banner  across  the  hall,  with  "Votes  for  Women"  on 
it,  and  from  there  it  travelled  to  Mr.  Harcourt.  He 
had  grown  visibly  paler.  He  put  a  hand  to  his  tweed 
travelling-cap,  gave  it  a  jerk  and,  turning  without 
warning,  he  disappeared  through  the  entry  into  the 
storm.  I  caught  Mr.  Harcourt  by  the  arm  as  he  was 
about  to  follow,  muttering  savagely. 

"Oh,  he's  going  to  run  away,"  I  wailed.  "And  he 
will  take  pneumonia  or  something  like  that,  and  die ! 
I  told  Daphne  how  it  would  be!"  Mr.  Harcourt 
ran  down  the  steps.  "Sir  George!  Sir  George!" 
I  called  desperately  into  the  darkness  from  the  door 
way.  There  was  no  answer,  but  Mr.  Harcourt 
stopped  and  glanced  back  from  the  drive. 

"Sir  George!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  do  you 
mean4?" 

"It's  the  Prime  Minister,"  I  called  desperately, 
"and  if  you  care  anything  at  all  about  Violet — but, 
of  course,  you  don't — oh,  do  find  him  and  bring  him 
back!" 


190     AFFINITIES 

(Nothing  but  the  excitement  of  the  occasion 
would  have  made  me  mention  Violet  to  him.  I  was 
sorry  on  the  instant,  for  Mother  knew  a  man  once 
who  had  a  fainting  spell  every  time  he  heard  his  di 
vorced  wife's  name,  and  the  only  way  they  could 
revive  him  was  by  sprinkling  him  with  lilac  water, 
which  had  been  her  favourite  perfume.  Very  ro 
mantic,  I  think.  But  there  was  nothing  but  rain  to 
sprinkle  on  Mr.  Harcourt,  even  if  he  had  taken  a 
fit,  which  he  didn't.) 

Instead,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  started  down 
the  drive.  Sir  George  had  disappeared,  and  the  en 
gine  of  the  motor  car  had  given  a  final  throb  and 
died  in  the  distance.  Sounds  of  feet  splashing 
through  mud  and  water  came  back  to  me. 

For  ten  minutes  I  cowered  on  that  miserable 
settee,  with  "Votes  for  Women"  over  my  head.  And 
I  remembered  America,  and  the  way  I  was  always 
sheltered  there,  and  nobody  even  thinking  of  kid 
napping  the  Cabinet.  The  President  being  the  whole 
thing  anyhow  and  always  guarded  by  secret  service 
men.  And  besides,  imagine  abducting  nine  men! 
Or  is  it  seven? 

After  eternities  I  heard  voices  outside  and  Mr. 
Harcourt  appeared,  half  leading,  half  coaxing  Sir 
George.  He  had  him  by  the  arm.  The  Prime  Min 
ister  was  oozing  mud  and  he  was  very  pale. 

"Terrible!"  he  was  saying.     "Unbelievable!     Is 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        191 

there  anything  they  won't  do!"  Then  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  seven  chairs  and  the  gavel  on  the 
drawing-room  table,  and  tried  to  bolt  again.  But 
the  entry  door  was  closed. 

"Now,  then,"  Mr.  Harcourt  said  to  me  disagree 
ably.  "Tell  us  what  you  know  about  this  thing. 
It  isn't  an  accident,  I  presume?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  see,  sir,"  he  said  to  the  P.  M.,  "you  are 
the  centre — the  storm  centre — of  a  Suffragette  plot 
of  some  sort.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  have  guessed  it,  but 

I  actually  thought Well,  no  matter  what  I 

thought.  I  presume  you  were  going  to  Gresham 
Place?" 

Sir  George  nodded  and  groaned.  A  terrible  flash 
of  lightning  was  followed  almost  instantly  by  a 
splintering  crash.  The  very  house  rocked.  Mr. 
Harcourt  closed  the  door. 

"This  is  Harcourt  Hall,"  he  explained.  "It's  in 
bad  shape,  but  we  have  at  least  a  roof.  I  think  you 
are  alone?"  to  me  very  curtly. 

I  nodded  mutely. 

"I  fancy  the  best  thing  under  the  circumstances 
is  to  wire  to  Gresham  Place,  and  have  them  send 
a  car  over — providing  the  telephone  is  in  order." 

"The  wire  is  cut,"  I  broke  in.  And  then,  like  the 
poor  thing  I  am,  I  began  to  ery.  I  hate  lightning.  It 
always  makes  me  nervous. 


192 AFFINITIES 

Both  Sir  George  and  Mr.  Harcourt  stared  at  me 
helplessly.  And  then,  still  sniffling,  I  told  them  the 
whole  story,  and  how  Daphne  and  the  rest  would 
soon  be  there,  and  that  I  wasn't  really  a  Suffragette; 
that  I  was  an  American,  and  I  thought  women  ought 
to  vote,  but  be  ladylike  and  proper  about  it,  and 
that,  at  least,  they  ought  to  be  school  directors,  be 
cause  they  understood  little  children  so  well  and 
paid  taxes,  anyhow. 

When  I  got  through  and  looked  up  at  them  Sir 
George  was  staring  at  me  in  bewilderment  and  Mr., 
Harcourt  was  smiling  broadly. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "of  course  you 
ought  to  vote.  And  if  voting  went  by  general  at« 
tractiveness  you  would  have  to  be  what  Americans 
call  a  repeater — vote  twice,  you  know." 

(It  was  at  this  point,  when  I  told  the  story,  that 
Ernestine  Sutcliffe  looked  contemptuous.  "We  are 
not  all  pretty  puppets,"  she  said.  And  I  retorted: 
"No,  I  should  say  not!") 

All  this  had  taken  longer  than  it  sounds,  for  on 
the  very  tail  of  Mr.  Harcourt's  speech  came  a  double 
honk  from  the  drive.  Mr.  Harcourt  jumped  for  the 
hall  lamp  and  extinguished  it  in  an  instant.  I 
hardly  know  what  happened  next.  My  eyes  were 
still  staring  wide  into  the  blackness  when  he  reached 
over  and  clutched  me  by  the  shoulder. 

"Not  a  word,  please,"  he  ordered.     "This  way, 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        193 

Sir  George!  The  door  is  bolted,  and  we  will  have 
time  to  get  upstairs  and  hide.  There's  a  secret  room, 
if  I  can  remember  how  to  get  to  it.  Walk  lightly." 

I  could  hear  Daphne  at  the  door  outside  and  I 
opened  my  mouth  to  scream.  But  Mr.  Harcourt  di 
vined  my  intention  and  clapped  a  hand  over  it. 

As  I  was  half  led,  half  dragged  back  through  the 
dark  hall  I  saw  Violet  enter  by  one  of  the  windows. 

IV 

We  got  upstairs  somehow,  with  Sir  George  breath 
ing  in  gasps.  I  realised  then  that  Mr.  Harcourt  was 
still  supporting  me  and  I  freed  myself  with  a  jerk, 
on  which  he  coolly  took  my  hand  and  led  the  way 
along  the  musty  hall.  Once  or  twice  boards  creaked 
and  the  two  men  stopped  in  alarm.  But  no  one 
heard.  From  below  came  a  babel  of  high,  excited 
voices  and  the  crash  of  an  overturned  chair.  I  backed 
against  the  wall  and  held  my  hands  out  defensively 
in  front  of  me. 

"How  dare  you  carry  me  off  like  this!"  I  de 
manded  when  I  could  speak.  "I  am  going  back!" 

But  Mr.  Harcourt  blocked  the  passage  with  his 
broad  shoulders  and  struck  a  match  cautiously.  First 
he  looked  at  the  walls,  then  he  glanced  at  me. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said  curtly,  "we  should 
be  only  too  happy  to  leave  you — but  you  know , 


194  AFFINITIES 


too  much."  Then,  to  Sir  George :  "I  must  have  taken 
a  wrong  turn,"  he  whispered  ruefully.  "There  ought 
to  be  a  wainscoting  here.  Good  Heavens!  I  be 
lieve  they  are  coming  up." 

We  could  hear  Daphne  calling  "Madge!" 
frantically  from  the  lower  stairs.  And  suddenly  I 
was  ashamed  of  the  whole  affair:  of  myself,  for 
lending  myself  to  it ;  of  Violet,  for  thrusting  the  man 
beside  me  out  of  her  life  and  then  stooping  to  bor 
row  his  house;  of  Poppy,  for  braining  a  man  with 
a  chair  and  then  being  afraid  of  a  bat.  I  turned  to 
Mr.  Harcourt  as  the  footsteps  ran  up  the  stairs. 

"The  door  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  is  partly 
open,"  I  whispered.  "We  may  be  able  to  lock  it 
behind  us." 

With  that  we  I  shifted  my  allegiance.  From  that 
moment  my  sole  object  was  to  get  the  Prime  Min 
ister  of  Great  Britain  back  to  his  family,  his  friends 
and  his  Sovereign  without  injury. 
,  We  scurried  down  the  hall  and  closed  the  door  be 
hind  us.  It  did  not  lock !  But  there  was  no  time  to 
go  elsewhere.  We  stood  just  inside  the  door,  breath 
ing  hard,  and  listened.  For  a  time  the  search  con 
fined  itself  to  the  lower  floor.  Mr.  Harcourt  struck 
another  match  and  looked  around  him. 

We  were  in  a  huge,  old-fashioned  bedroom  with 
mullioned  windows  and  panelled  walls.  The  furni 
ture  was  carefully  covered,  and  the  carpet  had  beeix 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        195 

folded  and  wrapped  in  the  centre  of  the  floor.  I  sat 
down  on  it  in  a  perfectly  exhausted  condition. 

Mr.  Harcourt  stood  with  his  back  against  the 
door  and  we  all  listened.  But  the  search  had  not 
penetrated  to  our  wing.  Sir  George  was  breathing 
heavily  and  mopping  his  head.  The  air  was  stiffling. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Harcourt  cautious 
ly;  "I  could  have  sworn  I  had  taken  the  right  turn. 
If  I  remember  rightly  there  was  a  passage  from  the 
Refuge  Chamber  down  to  the  garden.  How  many 
women  are  downstairs*?" 

"Six,"  I  whispered,  "and  I  suppose  Poppy  Staf 
ford  would  count  as  two.  She  almost  killed  a  man 
last  year."  When  Sir  George  heard  Poppy's  name 
he  began  to  fumble  with  the  window-lock.  "And, 
of  course,"  I  went  on,  "your — I  mean — Violet 
knows  the  house  perfectly." 

"If  we  could  get  out  of  here/'  Mr.  Harcourt  re 
flected,  "we  could  get  down  to  the  lodge  somehow. 
Then,  when  the  motor  comes  back  we  could  stop  it 
at  the  gates — have  them  closed,  you  know — and 
when  the  chauffeur  gets  out  to  open  them  steal  the 
car." 

Sir  George  relaxed  perceptibly.  "A  valuable  sug 
gestion,"  he  said  almost  cheerfully.  But  suddenly  I 
had  turned  cold. 

''Most  valuable,"  I  said  from  the  darkness,  "save 


196 AFFINITIES 

for  one  thing:  Mr.  Harcourt  has  forgotten,  no  doubt, 
but  there  are  no  gates  at  the  lodge !" 
.  He  gave  a  quick  movement  in  the  darkness. 
"Then  we  will  have  to  manage  without  gates,"  he 
said  quite  calmly.  "I  had  forgotten,  for  the  mo 
ment,  that  they  had  been  taken  down.  What's  the 
conundrum*?  When  is  a  gate  not  a  gate?" 

But  his  lightness  did  not  reassure  me.  Why  had 
he  taken  the  wrong  turning  in  his  own  house*?  And 
what  man  in  his  senses  would  forget  whether  his 
own  lodge  had  gates  or  not !  But  there  was  no  time 
to  puzzle  it  out.  The  search  had  abandoned  the 
first  floor  and  was  coming  up  the  stairs.  The  Prime 
Minister  threw  open  the  window.  From  down  the 
hall  came  a  babel  of  voices  and  Daphne's  soap-box 
and  monument  voice.  "I  think  I  had  better  tell 
you,"  she  was  saying  "that  Violet  and  I  have  found 
traces  of  two  men — muddy  footprints  that  lead  up 
the  stairs.  Bagsby  says  he  brought  Sir  George  alone. 
I  do  not  hazard  a  guess,  but — something  unforeseen 

has  happened.     I  only  hope "  Here  she  broke 

off,  and  there  was  a  rattle  of  metallic  objects  that 
sounded  like  brass  fire-irons. 

The  search  came  our  way  slowly  but  certainly.  I 
sat  on  my  carpet  and  shivered.  Mr.  Harcourt  stood 
braced  against  the  door,  and  Sir  George  had  got  the 
window  open  and  was  testing  the  roof  of  a  conserva 
tory  with  his  foot.  Footsteps  came  down  the  hall 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE 

and  we  sat  motionless.  I  remembered  suddenly  that 
somebody  always  sneezed  at  crises  like  these,  and 
then  I  realised  inevitably  that  I  was  going  to  be  the 
person.  Somewhere  I  had  heard  that  if  you  hold 
your  breath  and  swallow  at  the  psychological  mo 
ment  you  may  sneeze  silently.  So  I  tried  it  in 
desperation  and  almost  strangled,  and  felt  very 
queer  about  the  ears  for  an  hour  after.  And  at  the 
best  there  was  some  sound,  for  the  footsteps  outside 
turned  and  ran  toward  the  stairs,  where  there  was  a 
hurried  colloquy. 

At  that,  Sir  George  put  the  other  foot  over  the 
windowsill,  and  in  a  moment  we  were  all  in  head 
long  flight.  Luckily,  the  very  top  of  the  conserva 
tory  was  boarded  on  top  of  the  glass,  but  it  began 
to  slope  sooner  than  I  had  expected,  and  I  lost  my 
hold  on  Sir  George's  hand  and  slid  without  warning. 
I  landed  on  the  ground  below,  standing  up  to  my 
waist  in  shrubbery  and  very  much  jarred.  Sir  George 
was  not  so  lucky.  He  put  a  foot  through  a  pane  of 
glass  with  a  terrible  crash,  and  it  took  all  of  Mr. 
Harcourt's  strength  to  release  him.  Standing  below, 
I  could  see  a  flare  of  light  in  the  room  we  had  just 
left,  and  the  silhouettes  of  the  two  men  struggling  on 
the  roof.  Somebody  came  to  the  window  just  as  we 
were  united  on  the  soggy  ground.  I  think  it  was 
Violet,  but  the  crash  of  the  rain  on  the  glass  of  the 
conservatory  had  covered  the  noise  of  our  escape. 


198 AFFINITIES 

Mr.  Harcourt  picked  me  out  of  my  bush  and  we 
darted  into  the  shrubbery. 


I  have  only  a  sketchy  recollection  of  what  fol 
lowed.  The  rain  beat  on  my  face  and  my  bare 
shoulders;  the  drive  was  a  river.  Once  some  one 
came  to  the  entry  door  of  the  Hall  behind  us  and 
waved  a  lamp,  which  the  wind  promptly  ex 
tinguished.  And  on  either  side  of  me,  in  gloomy 
silence,  ploughed  the  Prime  Minister  and  Mr.  Har 
court.  Once  Sir  George  left  the  drive,  seeking  bet 
ter  walking  on  the  turf,  and  came  back  after  a  mo 
ment  with  a  brief  statement  that  he  had  collided 
with  a  tree  and  had  loosened  a  tooth.  And  twice 
Mr.  Harcourt  touched  my  elbow  to  guide  me  and 
I  shook  him  off. 

He  got  into  the  gatekeeper's  house  through  a  win 
dow  and  opened  the  door  for  us.  The  interior  was 
desolate  enough,  but  it  was  at  least  dry.  Mr.  Har 
court  produced  a  candle  from  his  pocket,  evidently 
from  the  room  we  had  left,  and  it  revealed  two 
packing-cases,  one  small  keg,  and  a  collection  of 
straw  and  rubbish  in  a  corner.  It  also  showed  that 
Sir  George  had  struck  his  nose  and  that  it  was  bleed 
ing  profusely.  I  got  a  glimpse,  too,  of  the  wreck  of 
my  gown,  and  that  and  the  blood  together  brought 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE        199 

my  responsibility  for  the  whole  thing  home  to  me. 
I  sat  down  on  the  keg  and  buried  my  face  in  my 
hands. 

When  I  looked  up  again  a  fire  was  crackling  on 
the  hearth  and  Sir  George's  boots  were  steaming  in 
front  of  it.  Mr.  Harcourt  had  taken  off  his  coat 
and  was  drying  it.  The  smell  of  wet  woollen  cloth 
filled  the  air.  He  smiled  at  me  over  his  shoulder. 

"This  is  for  you,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Go  into 
the  back  room  and  strip  off  that  draggled  gown  and 
put  this  on." 

"I'm  very  well  as  I  am,"  I  said,  and  shivered. 

"Nonsense!"  He  came  over  to  me  and  held  out 
the  coat.  "That  white  satin  is  saturated.  Don't  be 
idiotic.  This  is  certainly  no  time  to  stand  on 
propriety." 

"I — I  can't,"  I  stammered. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  persisted.  "I've  got  sisters 
— lots  of  'em,  and  Sir  George  is  a  grandfather.  Put 
this  on  over  your  petticoat." 

Now,  of  course,  anybody  who  knows  anything 
about  clothing  today  knows  that  petticoats  don't  be 
long  with  it.  And  even  if  they  did,  there  were  about 
eighty-seven  hooks  on  the  back  of  my  gown,  and  only 
four  that  I  could  reach. 

"I  am  very  comfortable  as  I  am,"  I  said  stub 
bornly.  "Please  don't  bother  about  me.  I  sha'n't 
make  any  change." 


200 AFFINITIES 

He  flung  the  coat  angrily  on  to  a  box  and  turned 
his  back  squarely  on  me.  It  was  maddening  to  have 
him  think  me  some  prudish  little  schoolgirl  who 
would  say  limbs  for  legs,  and  who,  after  showing 
them  for  years  in  very  short  frocks,  suddenly  puts 
on  her  first  long  gown  and  is  for  denying  she  has 
any  limbs — that  is,  legs.  Sir  George  sneezed  and 
drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath. 

"Terrible!"  he  said.  "This  is  what  comes  of 
admitting  women  to  the  universities.  Would  any 
man  in  his  senses  believe  that  such  a  situation  as  this 
is  real?' 

Nobody  answered.  Sir  George  was  inspecting  the 
inner  room.  I  had  gone  to  the  window,  and  after  a 
moment  Mr.  Harcourt  joined  me  there.  The  thunder, 
which  had  ceased,  was  commencing  again,  and  a 
blue-white  flash  threw  out  the  landscape.  It  showed 
a  long  stretch  of  country  road,  running  with  mad 
little  streams  of  yellow  water,  the  drive  curving  past 
and  flowing  a  dignified  tributary  into  the  lane,  and 
it  revealed  something  else.  The  lodge  gates  were 
there,  opened  back  against  the  shrubbery!  Under 
cover  of  the  noise  I  turned  to  my  companion. 

"Who  are  you?"  I  demanded  under  my  breath. 
"You  are  not  Basil  Harcourt!  You  had  no  more 
right  to  be  in  that  house  than  I  had." 

"Save  the  right  of  sanctuary,"  he  returned,  look 
ing  at  me  oddly.  "I  got  in  through  the  chapel. 


And  what  does  it  matter,  anyhow"?  It  is  enough  for 
me  just  now  that  you  are  you  and  I  am  I." 

"You  are  flippant,"  I  retorted  cautiously.  "Why 
did  you  say  you  had  had  the  gates  taken  down  when 
they  are  still  there,  opened  against  the  hedge?" 

"Jove!  That's  a  piece  of  luck,"  he  exclaimed, 
without  troubling  to  explain.  "Why  in  the  world 
did  you  say  there  were  no  gates'?" 

He  opened  the  door  and  ran  out  into  the  storm. 
A  moment  later  I  saw  him  testing  the  hinges,  and  I 
flung  away  from  the  window.  Before  he  came  back 
he  had  closed  the  outer  shutters. 

Sir  George  had  taken  off  his  mackintosh  and  cap 
and,  with  a  candle  and  a  deck  of  cards,  was  pre 
paring  for  solitaire  on  the  top  of  the  keg.  The 
candle-light  struck  full  on  his  face  and  showeH  his 
sandy  moustache  hanging  limp  and  dejected,  while 
little  beads  of  moisture  showed  between  the  thin 
hair  brushed  across  the  top  of  his  head.  He  was 
more  nervous  than  he  would  have  had  us  know,  and 
the  hands — very  fine,  long-fingered  hands  they  were 
— that  laid  out  the  cards  were  trembling  noticeably. 
At  every  sound  he  raised  his  head  and  stared  at  the 
door,  and  his  arched,  patrician  nose  would  have  been 
pinched  if  it  had  not  been  so  swollen.  I  shuddered 
with  remorse  every  time  I  looked  at  him.  His  right 
trouser  was  torn  to  ribbons  from  the  knee  down,  and 
soon  after  our  arrival  he  had  disappeared  into  the 


202 AFFINITIES 

rear  room  and  emerged,  bandaged  with  his  spare 
handkerchiefs,  and  limping. 

We  sat  there  for  two  hours.  Sir  George  pretend 
ing  to  play,  I  huddled  on  a  box  by  the  fire,  and  The 
Unknown  across  the  hearth  from  me,  stretched  on 
the  floor,  and  leaning  on  his  elbows  and  whistling 
softly.  Sometimes  he  looked  at  me  and  sometimes  at 
the  fire,  and  once  or  twice  I  found  him  watching 
Sir  George  with  a  curiously  meditative  gaze.  I 
could  not  help  wondering  if  he  was  thinking  what  a 
chance  for  ransom  there  would  be  if  he  could  hold 
the  two  of  us  prisoner  for  a  time. 

(For  story  purposes,  it  is  a  pity  he  did  not.  What 
a  novel  it  would  have  made !  The  whole  House  of 
Lords  out  searching  for  us,  and  the  Premier  and  my 
self  living  in  a  cave,  with  our  captor  sitting  at  the  en 
trance  with  a  gun  across  his  knees!) 

After  two  hours  of  cards  and  steaming  before  the 
fire  Sir  George  became  drowsy.  He  yawned  prodigi 
ously,  apologised  to  me  thickly,  and  when  the  candle 
finally  burned  out  he  put  his  head  on  top  of  the  keg 
and  was  asleep  immediately.  Not  a  sound  had  come 
from  the  Hall;  everything  was  quiet  except  for  a 
drip  from  the  leaking  roof,  that  splashed  in  a  corner. 

Then: 

"If  you  please,"  I  said  in  a  small  voice,  "may  I 
have  my  necklace  now?" 

The  Unknown  turned  quickly  and  glanced  at  Sir 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       203 

George,  but  he  was  noisily  asleep.  Then  he  edged 
over  along  the  hearth  until  he  was  almost  at  my 
feet. 

"I  was  going  to  advertise  them,"  he  said  in  an 
undertone.  "Possibly  you  recall  my  fair  offer. 
Some  poor  woman  is  probably  having  a  serious  ill 
ness  at  this  minute  because  her  pearls  have  been — 
er — appropriated." 

"I  don't  feel  a  particle  ill,"  I  said  stubbornly, 
"but  I  want  them  back.  They  belong  to  me.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  them?" 

"  'Melt  them  down  and  sell  them,'  "  he  quoted 
easily.  "Or  dissolve  them  in  vinegar  and  swallow 
them.  That's  historic,  anyhow." 
•  "There  is  a  better  Biblical  precedent,"  I  said  and 
stopped,  furious  at  myself.  He  was  an  ordinary 
highwayman  masquerading  as  a  gentleman,  and  for 
all  I  knew  he  might  at  that  very  minute  have  had 
the  stolen  Romney  sewed  around  him  like  a  cuirass. 
(He  did  hold  himself  very  erect,  now  I  thought  of 
it.)  And  I  had  allowed  his  debonair  manner  to 
carry  me  away. 

But  he  did  not  give  me  a  chance  to  snub  him,  for 
the  next  moment  he  was  speaking  gravely  in  an 
undertone  and  looking  directly  in  my  eyes.  I  will 
say  he  had  a  most  misleadingly  frank  expression. 

"I  will  give  them  to  you  when  you  are  safely 
back  at  Ivry,"  he  said,  "and  not  one  moment  before. 


204 AFFINITIES 

I  am  sure  Sir  George  would  agree  with  me  that  they 
are  too  valuable  for  a  young  girl  to  wear  under  the 
circumstances.  I  will  give  you  my  word,  if  it  is 
worth  anything  to  you." 

"And  if  I  will  not  take  it?' 

"It  would  make  no  difference,"  he  replied  im- 
perturbably,  and  leaned  over  to  replenish  the  fire. 

Sir  George  slept  on  noisily ;  the  drip  in  the  corner 
had  become  a  splash;  my  white  satin  slippers  be 
fore  the  fire  were  drying  into  limp  shapelessness. 
The  man  in  tweeds  on  the  floor  raised  himself  into 
a  sitting  position  and  listened,  his  hands  clasped 
about  his  knees. 

(Knickers  with  a  man  are  like  decolletage  with  a 
woman,  only  to  be  worn  by  the  elect.  Mother  wishes 
me  to  cut  this  out,  because  she  says  this  story  is  to 
be  read  by  young  persons.  But  the  modern  young 
person  is  really  awfully  sophisticated.  Sometimes  I 
feel  as  though  mother  is  a  mere  child,  compared  to 
me.) 

After  a  time  the  man  in  knickers  who  was  one 
of  the  elect  dropped  on  his  elbow  and  began  to  talk 
again,  looking  into  the  fire. 

"Rum  affair  altogether,  isn't  it?"  he  said  chattily. 
"Nature  having  a  spasm  outside,  half  a  dozen  lady 
votaries  of  the  vote  having  spasms  up  at  the  house, 
the — er — Premier  of  Great  Britain,  on  whose  posses 
sions  the  sun  never  sets,  having  apoplexy  on  a  pack- 


BORROWED  HOUSE       205 

ing-case.  And  out  of  all  this  chaos  a  moment  like 
this:  you  and  I  alone  here,  where  I  could  reach  out 
my  hand  and  touch  you — if  I  dared "  he  sup 
plemented  as  I  straightened.  "You  see,  you  have 
gone  to  my  head.  You  are  the  most  beautiful  per 
son  I  have  ever  seen." 

One  could  tell  that,  however  low  he  had  fallen, 
he  had  been  properly  raised — although  I  think  fire 
light  is  always  becoming,  especially  with  a  white 
gown. 

Here  Sir  George  began  to  rouse.  He  coughed 
huskily,  sat  up  and  looked  around  him  in  a  daze, 
and  then  stretched  out  his  legs  and  groaned. 

"Gad!"  he  said  with  a  deep  breath,  "I  hoped  I 
had  dreamed  it."  He  looked  at  us  both  as  if  to 
establish  our  reality,  and,  reaching  over,  began  to 
struggle  into  his  shrunken  boots. 

"If  the  storm  has  subsided,"  he  said,  stamping 
his  foot  in  an  endeavour  to  get  his  heel  down  where 
it  belonged,  "I  think  I  shall  be  going  on.  This 
place  is  damp." 

"Not  half  so  damp  as  the  road,"  objected  the 
other  man.  "It's  a  matter  of  miles,  you  know;  and 
besides,  I  imagine  we  are  going  to  have  another 
storm.  Listen !" 

The  distant  rumble  of  thunder  had  been  coming 
closer  to  us.  The  rain  had  almost  stopped,  but,  as 
Sir  George  opened  the  door,  over  the  ominous  still- 


206 AFFINITIES 

ness  flashed  a  terrific  fork  of  lightning,  followed  in 
stantly  by  a  crash  near  at  hand.  A  blue-white  streak 
ran  down  the  bole  of  a  tree  across  the  road.  The 
thunder  that  followed  echoed  and  re-echoed  above 
our  heads  as  we  faced  each  other  in  the  firelight.  Sir 
George  had  closed  the  door  precipitately,  but,  as 
the  noise  died  away,  he  jammed  his  cap  over  his 
ears  and  resolutely  prepared  for  flight. 

Argument  had  no  effect  on  him.  Whatever  had 
caused  his  sudden  change  of  mind,  he  was  deter 
mined  to  leave  at  once.  I  was  panic-stricken.  He 
had  been  my  patent  of  respectability  so  far  in  what 
was,  to  say  the  least,  an  unconventional  situation. 
But  to  have  him  go  like  that  and  leave  me  there 
with  an  ordinary  thief,  even  if  he  did  look  like  a 
Greek  god  except  his  nose,  which  was  modern — (I 
do  not  like  those  old  Greek  noses,  anyhow;  they  be 
gin  so  far  up  on  the  forehead) — to  have  him  leave 
me  like  that  was  dreadful. 

However,  there  came  an  interruption  just  then, 
a  splashing  of  horses'  feet  along  the  road  and  the 
sound  of  men's  voices.  They  halted  just  outside  the 
gates  and  we  caught  a  word  here  and  there:  "Gre- 
sham  Place,"  and  "Automobile,"  and  one  sentence 
that  stuck  in  my  mind  and  brought  me  a  picture  of 
myself  in  a  hideous  prison  cap,  sewing  bags.  It 
was:  "Half  a  dozen  are  watching  Ivry  Manor 
House !" 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       207 

I  think  Sir  George  realised  when  I  did  that  it  was 
a  searching  party  for  him;  he  had  been  leaning 
against  the  door,  listening.  Suddenly  he  bolted  for 
the  keg  where  he  had  left  his  mackintosh,  and  picked 
it  up.  But  The  Unknown  was  before  him.  He 
quickly  locked  the  outer  door  and  stood  with  his 
back  against  it. 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  go  out,  sir,"  he  said  very 
politely.  "Whether  those  men  are  searching  for  you 
or  are  hunting  for — for  some  one  else,  you  and  I 
have  a  duty  to  perform :  we  must  protect  this  young 
lady.  In  fact,  and  however  strongly  you  may  feel 
against  it,  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  see  the  wisdom  of 
shielding  all  the  women  concerned  from  publicity. 
And  in  this  case  it  is  not  chivalry;  it  is  self-protec 
tion."  Sir  George  wavered.  "You  can  see  what  the 
papers  will  make  of  it,  sir.  That  the  plot  has  failed 
would  not  check  the  general  excitement;  the  situa 
tion  is  ludicrous  instead  of  serious.  That  is  the  dif 
ference." 

Sir  George  sat  down  heavily  and  groaned.  Per 
haps  I  imagined  it,  but  he  looked  older,  leaner,  paler 
than  he  had  done  earlier  in  the  evening. 

"I  have  this  plan  to  offer,"  pursued  The  Un 
known.  "We  will  get  the  machine  from  Bagsby  in 
an  hour" —  he  consulted  a  handsome  watch;  I  won 
dered  whose  it  had  been — "and  I  will  take  you  wher 
ever  you  wish ;  to  Gresham  Place,  or,  if  you  will  feel 


208 AFFINITIES 

safer  back  in  town,  to  the  express  for  London.  You 
can  get  it  at  East  Newbury.  If — if  the  young  lady 
wishes,  we  will  drop  her  at  Ivry  on  the  way." 

Sir  George  considered  and  decided  to  go  back  to 
town.  He  would  not  feel  safe,  after  this,  in  the 
country,  and  he  could  wire  ahead  and  be  met  by — 
I  think  he  said  he  intended  to  call  out  the  reserves. 
I  may  be  wrong  about  this,  but  he  gave  me  the  im 
pression  that  he  would  never  walk  out  again  without 
a  detachment  of  the  Royal  Guard. 

And  so  we  settled  down  again  to  wait  for  Bagsby 
— that  is,  we  settled  down  apparently;  actually,  I 
was  busy  devising  a  method  to  get  rid  of  our  high 
wayman  and  to  secure  my  necklace  again.  For  any 
one  could  tell  that  he  only  meant  to  get  Daphne's 
motor  to  escape  in  and  that  he  would  probably  dump 
Sir  George  and  me  in  a  ditch,  or  cut  our  throats,  or 
sandbag  us,  and  make  his  escape  with  everything 
valuable  on  us,  including  my  slipper  buckles  which 
were  platinum  and  had  my  monogram  on  in  dia 
monds. 

If  I  could  only  have  warned  Sir  George!  But 
there  The  Unknown  sat  between  us,  with  his  eyes 
on  both  of  us  at  once  (if  this  is  possible  in  anything 
but  a  fish),  asking  me  how  I  liked  England  and 
what  I  thought  of  wealthy  American  girls  marrying 
impoverished  foreigners;  and  did  I  know  that  in  the 
Canadian  Northwest  Mounted  Police  the  word 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       209 

"home"  was  practically  taboo !  And  I  said  I  abomi 
nated  England  and  that  I  couldn't  understand  any 
kind  of  an  American  girl  marrying  any  Englishman, 
and  where  was  Canada?  He  gave  up  at  that  and, 
producing  a  gold  cigarette-case  with  somebody's  ini 
tials  on  it,  smoked  moodily  for  some  time. 

Then  I  had  my  second  inspiration  of  the  evening. 
I  began  to  get  hungry,  and  by  stages  I  grew  weak, 
dizzy  and,  finally,  almost  fainting.  Sir  George  was 
very  mildly  interested,  but  The  Unknown  was  flat 
teringly  so.  However,  when  I  said  faintly  that  I 
had  had  no  dinner,  and  that  I  was  sure  I  should 
swoon  if  I  did  not  have  the  hamper  brought  from 
the  Hall  at  once,  he  cooled  somewhat. 

"You  would  better  try  to  stick  it  out,"  he  urged. 
"You  haven't  had  any  dinner:  I  haven't  had  food 
for — well,  for  some  time.  There's  a  tap  in  the  back 
room :  let  me  bring  you  a  drink  of  water.  You  have 
no  idea,  until  you  have  to,  how  long  you  can  go  on 
water." 

"I  am  not  a  boat,"  I  said  scornfully.  And  after 
a  time,  when  he  proved  shockingly  distrustful  of  me 
and  most  unchivalrous,  he  agreed  grudgingly  to  try 
to  steal  the  hamper  from  the  house. 

"But  remember,"  he  said,  turning  up  his  coat  col 
lar,  "if  anything  goes  wrong  you  will  have  the  whole 
shooting-match  down  on  us  here."  (Item:  was  he 


210 AFFINITIES 

American,  after  all*?    An  Englishman  would  have 
said  "the  whole  bally  crowd.") 

I  think  he  wanted  to  say  something  to  me  before 
he  left,  but  having  gained  my  point  I  turned  my 
back  on  him.  He  went,  finally,  but  he  stood  for  a 
moment  on  the  lodge  porch,  looking  back  at  me.  I 
pretended  not  to  know  it. 

When  I  heard  him  splashing  up  the  drive  I  turned 
on  Sir  George  like  a  hurricane.  It  took  him  some 
time  to  understand ;  I  had  to  go  over  the  part  about 
the  pearls  several  times,  and  when  he  finally  made 
out  that  they  were  very  valuable  he  still  could  not 
understand  how  I  came  to  throw  them  at  the  other 
man.  Then  I  told  him  about  the  theft  of  the  pic 
ture,  and  that  we  had  the  thief  in  our  grasp  if  we 
could  get  him.  Sir  George's  face  was  very  queer. 
When  he  got  it  all  finally,  however,  he  wakened  up 
at  once.  He  asked  me  what  the  collar  was  worth, 
and  said  young  English  girls  did  not  wear  such  costly 
jewels,  but  that  he  would  see  that  they  were  recov 
ered.  And  the  plan  was  simple  enough.  The  great 
est  things  in  life  are  simple.  I  said  to  him  that  I 
could  easily  see  how  he  became  Premier. 

The  shutters  of  the  inner  room  were  bolted  on  the 
outside.  We  would  coax  our  gentleman  in  there 
and  lock  the  door.  He  would  be  there,  as  I  said 
with  enthusiasm  to  Sir  George,  like  a  ripe  apple  on 
a  tree,  ready  for  picking  at  any  time. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       211 

It  worked  to  a  charm,  although  the  result  was  not 
what  we  had  expected.  Very  far  from  it,  indeed. 
The  Unknown,  which  is  shorter  than  saying  "The 
Man  in  Tweeds"  or  "The  Sociable  Highwayman," 
came  back  in  about  half  an  hour,  with  his  cap  miss 
ing  and  mud  up  to  his  knees. 

"Jove,"  he  said,  shaking  himself,  "this  is  Para 
dise  compared  to  that  up  there.  The  lower  floor  is 
a  wreck:  two  of  them  are  asleep,  three  of  them  are 
standing  on  chairs  and  talking  at  once,  and  a  tall, 
fair  woman  in  green  satin  is  having  ladylike  hys 
terics  by  herself  in  a  corner." 

"The  tall,  fair  woman  in  green,"  I  said  coldly, 
"is  Mrs.  Harcourt-Standish.  It  is  strange  you  did 
not  know  her." 

He  whistled  and  then  looked  at  me  with  one  of 
his  slow,  boyish  smiles. 

"Well,  as  to  that,"  he  observed,  opening  the  ham 
per,  "I — you  see,  I  never  saw  her  in  hysterics.  It's 
supposed  to  make  a  great  difference." 

"We  need  a  box  from  the  other  room,"  I  said,  in 
wardly  trembling.  "We  have  used  one  for  fire 
wood."  We  had,  purposely,  and  it  threatened  to  fire 
the  chimney.  I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  had  a  hor 
rid  guilty  feeling  when  I  said  it,  like  Delilah  cutting 
Samson's  hair,  or  the  place  where  Blanche  Bates  took 
the  card  out  of  her  stocking  in  The  Girl  of  the 
Golden  West.  The  Unknown  glanced  at  the  box 


212 AFFINITIES 

on  the  hearth,  at  the  Prime  Minister,  who  was  getting 
out  the  salad,  and  at  me,  feeling  as  I  have  just  said. 
Then  he  turned  on  his  heel,  whistling  softly,  and 
went  into  the  inner  room. 

Sir  George  dropped  the  salad  on  the  instant,  with 
a  crash,  and  had  the  door  slammed  and  locked  im 
mediately.  His  sandy  moustache  stood  out  quite 
straight,  and  he  looked  very  military  (or  is  it  mili 
tant'?).  There  was  silence  from  the  inner  room,  and 
then  my  gentleman  found  the  door  and  rattled  the 
crazy  latch. 

"The  lock  has  sprung  in  some  way,"  he  said  po 
litely  from  the  other  side.  "I  will  have  to  trouble 
you  to  open  it." 

The  band  around  my  throat  began  to  loosen,  and, 
anyhow,  if  he  had  been  little  and  ugly  I  would  not 
have  cared.  Why  should  I  condone  a  crime  because 
Nature  had  given  him  a  handsome  body  to  hold  an 
ignoble  spirit1?  I  went  over  to  the  door  and  called 
through  it  triumphantly: 

"We  are  not  going  to  unlock  the  door,  and  when 
Bagsby  comes  we  are  going  to  send  for  the  police." 

(That  was  the  Premier's  plan.  He  would  waylay 
Bagsby  at  the  point  of  his  revolver — Sir  George's — 
and  make  him  take  him  to  the  nearest  constable. 
Then  Sir  George  would  get  a  conveyance  and  make 
his  escape  after  sending  me  on  to  Ivry.  I  would 
not  stay  in  the  lodge  alone  with  a  desperate  criminal, 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       213 

and  I  did  not  wish  to  face  Daphne  and  the  rest  in 
their  present  condition.) 

I  was  not  hungry,  after  all.  Everything  I  ate 
stuck  somewhere  in  my  throat  and  brought  tears  to 
my  eyes,  and  Sir  George  was  not  hungry,  either.  He 
kept  walking  around  the  room  and  eying  the  door, 
and  once  he  got  out  his  revolver  and  put  it  on  the 
box.  Finally,  he  went  to  the  doorway. 

"If  you  will  pass  this  young  woman's  jewelry 
out  under  the  door,"  he  said,  "we  will  see  that  you 
are  not  molested  by  the  police." 

"On  our  honour !"  I  called  eagerly.  For,  after  all, 
he  had  been  gentle  with  me  when  he  thought  I  was 
stealing  the  forks.  (Although,  after  all,  why  should 
he  not  have  been*?  They  were  not  his.) 

'Til  see  you  in  perdition  first!"  came  the  sulky 
answer.  I  hoped  it  was  meant  for  Sir  George.  And 
after  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for 
Bagsby. 

VI 

We  did  not  talk.  Sir  George  watched  the  door 
to  the  inner  room  and  sneezed  frequently.  Part 
of  the  time  he  examined  his  revolver,  which  he 
put  on  the  keg  in  front  of  him.  He  was  very  clumsy 
with  it;  I  suppose  a  Prime  Minister  has  an  armour- 
bearer  usually,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Once  we 
heard  an  automobile  far  off,  and  Sir  George  ran  out 


214 AFFINITIES 

to  the  gates  and  closed  them.  But  the  machine  went 
past,  and  from  the  voices  it  seemed  to  be  filled  with 
men.  I  saw  it  again  later. 

While  Sir  George  was  outside  in  the  rain  I  emptied 
his  revolver.  It  is  one  thing  to  have  a  man  arrested 
for  stealing  one's  jewels,  and  quite  a  different  one 
to  murder  him  in  cold  blood.  I  had  the  cartridges  in 
my  hand  when  Sir  George  opened  the  door,  and  in 
my  excitement  I  threw  them  into  the  fire.  From 
that  moment  until  we  left  I  stood  behind  one  of  the 
packing-cases  and  waited  for  the  hearth  to  open  fire 
on  us.  But  for  some  reason  the  cartridges  did  not 
explode.  Perhaps  they  fell  too  far  back  in  the 
chimney. 

(I.  E.  This  would  make  a  good  plot  for  a  detec 
tive  story.  Some  time  I  shall  try  it.  Writing  is  much 
easier  than  I  had  thought  it  would  be,  especially 
conversation.  The  villain  could  put  a  row  of  shells 
on  a  fire-log,  pointing  toward  the  hero's  easy-chair. 
The  hero  comes  home  and  lights  the  fire,  and  then 
the  heroine,  whom  the  villain  loves,  comes  on  some 
agonised  errand  to  the  hero's  room  at  night,  sits  in 
his  chair  and  is  murdered.  Of  course,  the  hero  is 
suspected,  or  perhaps  the  villain  jumps  from  behind 
a  curtain  to  save  the  lady,  kneels  on  the  hearth-rug 
and  gets  a  broadside  that  finishes  him.  You  can  see 
the  possibilities.) 

Sir  George  was  growing  distinctly  less  agreeable. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       215 

He  made  another  appeal  to  the  prisoner  to  give  up 
the  necklace  and  put  it  out  under  the  door,  but  the 
prisoner  did  not  make  any  reply. 

At  three  o'clock  Bagsby  came.  We  hurried  out 
to  the  little  porch  and  watched  him  stop  the  car  just 
beside  us,  with  its  nose  at  the  gates.  As  he  was 
getting  out,  muttering,  to  open  them,  Sir  George 
caught  him  by  the  shoulder  and  held  the  revolver 
under  his  nose. 

"Get  back  into  the  car,"  he  commanded,  "and 
take  this  young  woman  and  myself  to  Newbury.  And 
mind  you  do  it.  No  nonsense.  Do  you  know  the 
road?' 

Bagsby  muttered  sullenly  that  he  did,  and  then, 
just  when  I  was  safely  in  the  tonneau  and  had  drawn 
a  long  breath,  Sir  George  stopped  with  his  foot  on 
the  step  and — I  think  he  swore.  Then  he  put  the 
revolver  in  my  hand  and  pointed  it  at  Bagsby's 
neck. 

"Do  you  know  how  to  shoot*?"  he  demanded. 

"Ye— yes." 

"I  have  forgotten  my  mackintosh,"  he  explained 
curtly.  "Shoot  him  if  he  attempts  to  start  the  car." 
He  turned  in  the  doorway  to  say:  "Don't  take  your 
finger  off  the  trigger."  I  might  just  as  well  have 
been  pointing  the  automobile  wrench,  for  there  was 
nothing  in  the  revolver. 

Then  he  went  into  the  cottage,  and  was  gone  fully 


216 AFFINITIES 

a  minute.  But  the  strange  thing  was  that  as  he 
went  into  the  house  a  lightning  flash  lit  up  his  fig 
ure,  and  he  had  his  mackintosh  over  his  arm !  How 
ever,  he  might  have  meant  his  goloshes,  which  is 
English  for  overshoes  and  sounds  like  mackintosh. 
(I  know  at  home  I  always  confuse  Wabash  and  Osh- 
kosh.)  While  he  was  in  the  house  the  second  strange 
thing  happened.  Bagsby  squirmed  in  his  seat  in 
front  of  me  and  said  in  a  muffled  voice:  "Be  easy 
with  that  trigger,  Miss!" 

It  was  not  Bagsby  at  all !  //  was  the  prisoner  we 
had  locked  in  the  inner  room! 

"Oh !"  I  said  limply,  and  the  revolver  slid  out  of 
my  lap.  He  turned  cautiously  and  bent  over  the 
back  of  the  driver's  seat. 

"Everything's  all  right,"  he  said  quickly.  "You 
are  perfectly  safe;  I  am  going  to  take  you  home. 
Unload  that  revolver,  won't  you,  before  he  gets 
back?  Or  let  me  do  it." 

"It  is  unloaded,"  I  quavered.  "I  did  it  myself. 
But  why T 

"Sh!    Hold  out  your  hand." 

I  did,  slowly,  and  I  felt  my  necklace  drop  into  it. 
He  caught  my  fingers  and  held  them. 

"Now,  will  you  trust  me1?"  he  whispered.  We 
could  hear  Sir  George  falling  over  boxes  in  the  house 
and  talking  to  himself.  "I  have  been  fair  with 
haven't  I?" 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       217 

"I — yes !"  I  couldn't  say  less,  could  I,  with  the 
pearls  in  my  hand  ?  "I — I  suppose  I  can  trust  you. 
I  only  want  to  go  home  and  have  a  cup  of  weak  tea 
and  go  to  bed." 

"Good  girl !"  he  said.  "Of  course  you  can  trust 
me."  And  leaning  over,  without  any  warning,  he 
kissed  my  palm,  while  the  necklace  slid  to  the  floor 
of  the  tonneau  beside  the  revolver.  It  was  all  most 
amazing.  "Not  a  word  to  Sir  George,  please*.  He 
is  upset  enough  as  it  is.  It  is  my  turn  to  trust  you." 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  I  was  beginning,  when 
Sir  George  came  to  the  door  of  the  cottage.  At 
that  moment  one  of  the  cartridges  in  the  fire  ex 
ploded,  and  without  looking  back  he  leaped  off  the 
porch  and  into  the  car.  I  had  only  time  to  pick  up 
the  revolver  and  to  point  its  harmless  barrel  at  the 
chauffeur's  back.  I  have  no  doubt  that  to  this  min 
ute  Sir  George  thinks  that  a  desperate  attempt  was 
made  that  night  on  his  life.  For  reasons  that  I  am 
coming  to,  I  never  explained.  I  am  very  vague 
about  the  next  thirty  minutes.  We  passed  a  man, 
I  recall,  some  distance  down  the  lane,  a  man  who 
turned  and  yelled  at  us  through  the  storm,  and  I 
rather  thought  that  it  was  Bagsby.  I  couldn't  be 
quite  certain.  And  after  we  had  gone  perhaps  a  mile 
we  met  the  automobile  we  had  heard  earlier  coming 
back  through  the  mud.  We  made  a  detour  which 


218 AFFINITIES 

almost  ditched  us,  and  passed  them  without  slacken 
ing  speed. 

The  pace  was  terrific.  Sir  George  and  I  rattled 
about  in  the  tonneau,  now  jammed  together  at  one 
side  and  now  at  another.  I  was  much  too  busy  try 
ing  to  stay  in  the  car  to  have  time  to  wonder  what 
it  all  meant.  But  I  found  out  soon  enough. 

The  other  car  had  turned  and  was  following  us! 
It  was  coming  very  fast,  too;  and  they  had  taken  off 
the  muffler,  which  made  it  even  more  alarming. 
When  Sir  George  saw  that  we  were  being  pursued 
he  became  frantic.  After  threatening  the  supposed 
Bagsby  he  began  to  offer  bribes.  For,  of  course,  one 
could  understand  that  the  position  was  an  igno 
minious  one  for  any  Prime  Minister,  and  that  his 
dignity  would  be  sure  to  suffer  if  we  were  overtaken 
and  the  story  came  out.  How  many  times  at  home 
I  have  sat  in  a  theatre  and  seen  cinematograph  pic 
tures  of  people  in  a  motor  being  followed  at  top 
speed,  with  perhaps  an  angry  father  shaking  his  fist 
from  the  pursuing  car.  But  never  had  I  expected 
to  be  playing  castanets  with  the  Premier  of  Great 
Britain  in  the  tonneau  of  a  machine  driven  by  a 
highwayman,  and  flying  from  unknown  pursuers 
who  were  chasing  us  for  Heaven  knows  what  rea 
son.  Even  at  the  time  I  remember  thinking  what 
a  cinematograph  picture  we  would  make. 

Up  to  this  point  the  story  has  been  mild  enough. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       219 


Now  it  becomes  tragic.  For  at  the  place  where  the 
car  should  have  kept  straight  on  to  go  to  Newbury 
it  turned  suddenly,  putting  me  in  Sir  George's  lap 
for  a  moment,  and  jounced  along  over  mud  and 
ruts,  through  a  narrow  lane.  Sir  George  threw  me 
off  ungallantly  and  yelled.  Then  he  leaned  over  and 
held  the  revolver  against  the  driver's  neck. 

"What  do  you  mean1?"  he  almost  shrieked. 
"Where  are  you  going,  sir?  This  is  not  the  road  to 
Newbury!"  But  the  car  kept  on.  Sir  George  was 
frantic.  He  demanded  that  the  car  be  stopped,  so 
he  could  get  out  and  hide  in  the  hedge.  He  snapped 
the  trigger,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  had  it  been 
loaded  we  would  have  gone  crashing  into  eternity 
and  a  tree  at  forty  miles  an  hour. 

Then  he  commanded  our  chauffeur  to  turn  around 
and  ram  the  pursuing  car  to  destruction,  although 
he  put  it  differently.  And  then,  finding  he  made 
no  impression  on  the  hooded  and  goggled  figure  in 
the  driver's  seat,  he  stood  up  frantically  and  poised 
the  revolver  to  brain  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

He  was  quite  mad.  It  was  not  courage  on  my 
part  that  made  me  leap  and  catch  his  arm.  It  was 
sheer  self-preservation.  The  revolver  hurtled  into 
the  road.  (I  cannot  find  the  dictionary,  but  I'm 
sure  "hurtled"  is  correct,  and  certainly  it  is  forceful. 
The  revolver  hurtled  into  the  road,  and  Sir  George 
collapsed,  with  me  on  top  of  him.  Afterwards,  of 


220 AFFINITIES 

course,  I  had  chills,  because,  being  the  Prime  Minis 
ter,  no  doubt  he  could  have  me  put  in  the  Tower 
or  beheaded,  or  something  dreadful.  And  would  it 
be  "lese-majeste"  to  knock  over  the  King's  repre 
sentative*? 

By  this  time  we  were  well  up  the  lane,  and  the 
other  car  shot  past  along  the  highroad.  But  our 
pace  did  not  moderate,  and  after  a  little  the  other 
car  found  its  mistake  and  came  back.  We  could 
hear  it  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  behind  us.  And  at 
that  precise  instant  we  began  to  slow  up :  the  engine 
struggled  for  a  few  yards,  began  to  pant,  gave  two 
or  three  exhausted  gasps,  and  then  turned  over  on 
its  side  and  died.  The  next  moment  we  were  all 
three  in  the  road  and  running  like  mad  up  a  hill. 

If  one  knows  where  one  is  going,  and  whom  one 
is  with,  and  who  is  behind  one  shouting  "Stop 
thief!"  it  is  not  so  bad.  But  to  have  a  man  you 
don't  know  take  you  by  the  arm  and  drag  you  along 
through  briers  and  mud  toward  Heaven  knows 
where,  with  half  a  dozen  other  men  just  below 
climbing  faster  than  you  can  run,  and  it  is  raining, 
and  you  haven't  an  idea  what  it  is  all  about — well, 
it  is  not  pleasant.  And  I  had  lost  a  heel  off  one 
slipper  and  was  three  inches  shorter  on  one  side  than 
on  the  other. 

Sir  George  was  for  refusing  the  hill  and  for  dodg 
ing  among  the  trees,  but  our  deliverer  (  ?)  held  him 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       221 

tight.  Once,  in  a  frenzy  of  alarm,  he  did  break  loose, 
but  he  was  promptly  captured  and  brought  back, 
with  apologies,  but  firmness.  It  was  easy  to  see  why. 
He  would  have  caught  his  death  of  cold  if  he  had 
wandered  over  those  hills  all  night  in  the  rain,  and 
what  would  have  become  of  England?  (I  am  very 
glad  there  are  no  Prime  Ministers  in  America,  and 
most  of  the  Presidents  that  I  recall  would  be  as  easy 
to  run  away  with  as  a  bull  hippopotamus.) 

And  then  we  found  ourselves  at  a  side  entry  of 
what  seemed  to  be  a  colossal  house.  The  door  was 
partly  open  and  a  man  in  livery  was  asleep  on  a 
bench  just  inside  the  door. 

The  hold  on  my  arm  was  released.  The  Prime 
Minister,  assisted  by  The  Unknown,  went  up  the 
steps  and  in  through  the  door. 

I  struggled  up  alone,  with  my  lungs  suddenly  col 
lapsed  and  yells  from  somewhere  behind  me  in  the 
darkness.  I  could  hardly  lift  my  feet,  and  yet  I 
knew  I  must  get  up  the  steps  and  through  that  open 
door  before  somebody  reached  out  from  the  black 
behind  me  and  clutched  me.  It  was  a  nightmare 
come  to  life.  And  then  the  footman  caught  my  out 
stretched  hand  and  dragged  me  in,  the  door  slammed, 
and  I  sat  down  very  quietly  on  the  hall  bench  and 
fainted  away. 

(One  of  the  people  in  this  story  insists  that  I  was 
not  left  to  drag  myself  up  the  steps  alone,  and  that 


222 AFFINITIES 

he  took  me  up  and  put  me  on  the  bench.  But  he 
was  excited,  and  I  should  know  what  really  hap 
pened.  He  never  even  glanced  at  me.) 

VII 

I  am  sure,  gentle  reader— you  can  see  what  facil 
ity  I  am  gaming;  I  would  not  have  dared  the 
"gentle  reader"  in  Chapter  I — I  am  sure  you  will 
think  me  stupid  not  to  have  understood  the  situation 
by  that  time.  But  I  did  not.  When  I  came  to  my 
self  the  footman  was  standing  by,  very  stiffly,  with 
a  glass  of  wine  on  a  tray,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
he  knew  I  had  lost  my  heel  and  that  one  of  my  lace 
sleeves  was  gone.  When  I  unclenched  my  hand  and 
found  the  necklace  still  there,  and  then  dropped  it 
on  the  tray  while  I  drank  the  wine,  his  jaw  fell.  But 
where  he  had  said,  "Will  you  have  some  wine, 
Miss?"  before,  now  he  said,  "Shall  I  call  'Awkins, 
my  lady?' 

"Don't  call  any  one,"  I  said  wearily.  "Or — I 
wish  you  would  find  the — the  person  who  just 
came  in  with  Sir  George.*  And  as  he  turned  to  go, 
looking  very  puzzled,  "Where  am  I?"  I  asked. 

This  really  should  have  been  said  when  I  first 
roused. 

"At  Wimberley  Towers,  my  lady,"  the  man  an 
swered,  but  he  looked  at  me  again  curiously. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       223 

There  was  loud  talking  going  on  down  the  hall, 
and,  as  I  sat,  I  could  make  out  scraps  of  it.  A  man's 
voice,  vaguely  familiar,  in  an  even  monotone,  fol 
lowed  by  a  shrill,  excited  one,  also  masculine. 

"Berthold  said  there  was  a  woman  in  the  car,  and 
that  was  what  threw  us  off,  sir.  He's  always  seeing 
women." 

A  cold,  high  English  voice  came  next  and  then 
another,  but  without  the  incisiveness  of  the  earlier 
night — Sir  George's  voice,  heavy  and  lifeless,  yet 
with  an  undercurrent  of  scorn. 

"Surely  you  do  not  think  that  necessary,"  he  said. 

The  door  was  closed  again,  but  a  word  reached  me 
now  and  then,  occasional  raisins  in  the  loaf  of  my 
darkness.  (This  is  a  better  metaphor  than  I  ex 
pected  it  to  be,  because  I  was  loafing  and  the  hall 
was  dark!)  There  was  talk  about  Three-Mile 
Lane,  and  somebody  being  accosted  at  a  station,  and 
a  jingle  of  something  that  sounded  like  money,  fol 
lowed  by  the  heavy  tramping  of  men  along  a  distant 
corridor  and  the  closing  of  a  door.  Then  a  machine 
started  somewhere  outside  with  half  a  dozen  shot- 
like  reports  followed  by  the  soft  hum  of  the  engine. 
I  had  a  queer  feeling  of  being  deserted  in  a  strange 
place,  and  it  came  over  me  suddenly  that  I  had  heard 
there  was  a  Lady  Lethbridge  at  Wimberley,  only 
they  mostly  called  her  Snooksie — English  people 
use  the  queerest  diminutives — and  what  if  she  came 


224 AFFINITIES 

and  asked  me  what  I  was  doing  and  how  I  got 
there?  Or  perhaps  Sir  George  would  wire  to  town 
and  bring  down  a  lot  of  people  to  take  me  off  to  the 
Tower.  The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  surer  I  felt 
that  this  was  what  was  coming.  I  hoped  they  would 
let  me  change  my  gown,  anyhow — white  satin  and 
what  was  left  of  bits  of  lace  sleeves  would  look  so 
queer  being  carried  off  to  prison.  And  to  think  how 
I  had  dreamed  of  that  gown,  and  how,  because  it 
was  my  first  really  dignified  evening  gown — all  the 
rest  being  tulle  and  dancing  frocks — how  I  had 
thought  I  would  wear  it  just  once  and  perhaps  meet 
somebody  who  liked  it  terribly  and  me  in  it.  And 
then  I  would  lay  it  away,  and  some  time  later — 
much  later — I  would  bring  it  out,  a  little  yellow, 
and  say,  "Do  you  remember  it?"  And  he  would 
say,  "Remember  it?  As  long  as  I  live."  And  I 
would  say,  "I  thought  of  having  baby's  christening 
cloak  made  of  it  on  account  of  the  sentiment."  And 
then  he  would  hold  out  his  arms  and  say,  "Please 
don't!" 

I  had  not  heard  any  one  come  along  the  hall,  be 
cause  I  was  sniffling ;  so,  when  something  touched  me 
on  the  shoulder  I  looked  up,  and  there  he  was,  just 
as  I  had  been — well,  there  he  was.  And  he  sat  down 
on  the  bench  beside  me,  in  a  puddle,  and  helped  me 
find  my  handkerchief. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  leave  you,"  he  said  gently,  "but 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       225 

there  was  something  that  had  to  be  attended  to  and 
couldn't  wait.  Can  you  walk  as  far  as  the  library? 
There  is  a  fire  there  and  I  will  get  you  something 
dry.  We  can't  go  upstairs,  because  I  suppose  you 
don't  care  to  let  Blanche  in  on  this?" 

"Blanche?"  I  said,  trying  to  balance  on  my  one 
heel. 

"My  brother's  wife,"  he  explained.  "Luckily, 
she's  a  little  deaf,  and  Thad  has  gone  up  to  see  she 
doesn't  snoop.  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter? 
Just  now  you  were  quite  tall  and  stately,  and  now 
you  are  hardly  to  my  shoulder !" 

So  I  told  him  about  my  heel,  and  he  said  he  liked 
little  women,  and  that  no  person  who  was  just  five 
feet  two  inches  and  had  really  curly  hair  was  ever 
a  Militant  at  heart,  and  that  he  had  always 
thought  young  American  girls  were  well  heeled.  It 
was  an  astonishing  joke  for  an  Englishman,  until  it 
developed  that  he  had  been  living  in  California  for 
a  dozen  years  and  was  only  home  on  a  visit.  And 
that  his  name  was  John,  although  he  was  mostly 
called  Jack.  When  we  were  nicely  settled  by  the 
library  fire  and  the  man  had  brought  me  a  cup  of  tea 
that  would  have  floated  an  egg,  I  asked  him  quite 
casually  if  there  was  a  Mrs.  John.  He  drew  his 
chair  up  just  opposite  me  and  leaned  forward  with 
his  chin  in  his  hands. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said. 


226 AFFINITIES 

Something  made  me  draw  my  breath  in  sharply — 
I  think  it  was  his  tone — and  I  quite  scalded  my 
throat  with  the  tea.  The  fire  was  very  hot,  and  lit 
tle  clouds  of  steam  began  to  rise  from  my  white  satin. 

"I  have  spoiled  my  gown,"  I  said  ruefully,  "and 
I  had  such  plans  for  it." 

"What  kind  of  plans'?"  he  asked,  moving  his  chair 
forward  a  little.  "Do  tell  me.  I'm  always  making 
plans  myself.  And  pretty  soon,  when  you  are  dry 
and  the  motor  is  ready,  I  shall  have  to  take  you 
back  to  Ivry,  and  when  we  meet  again — if  we  ever 
do,  for  Daphne  is  going  to  kill  me  on  sight — you  will 
be  very,  very  formal  and  have  both  your  heels." 

"I  hope  you  will  forgive  me,"  I  said  stiffly,  "for 
calling  you  a — a  thief  and  locking  you  up  and — 
everything.  I  don't  understand  anything  yet;  it  must 
be  because  I  am  so  sleepy." 

"Poor  little  girl !"  he  said.  "What  you  have  gone 
through !  And  as  for  forgiving  you,  you  saved  my 
life  tonight.  Why,  if  you  thought  me  a  thief,  did 
you  unload  that  revolver?  If  you  tell  me  that  I 
will  try  to  clear  up  the  rest  of  the  mysteries." 

"I  was  afraid  he  might  become  excited  and  shoot 
you,"  I  returned  simply.  And  he  bent  over  and  took 
my  hand. 

"I  hoped  that  was  it,"  he  said,  just  as  simply.  He 
did  not  relinquish  my  hand. 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       227 

(When  I  told  Daphne  the  story  I  merely  said  of 
this:  "I  dried  myself  by  the  library  fire.") 

But  suddenly  I  saw  something  that  fairly  made 
my  blood  chill  in  my  veins.  On  the  floor,  at  his 
very  feet,  the  firelight  dancing  on  their  polished 
metal,  lay  a  pair  of  handcuffs. 

"Oh!"  I  cried  and  jumped  to  my  feet,  pointing. 
"You  haven't  been  telling  me  the  truth.  They  have 
given  you  a  few  minutes,  and  then  they  are  coming 
back  to  take  you  away.  Oh,  don't  let  them  to  do 
it.  I  couldn't  stand  it!" 

Yes,  that  is  what  I  said.  It  was  utterly  shameless, 
of  course,  and  no  properly-behaved  young  woman 
would  ever  have  said  it.  But  no  properly-behaved 
young  woman  would  have  kidnapped  a  Prime  Minis 
ter,  anyhow,  and  sat  in  a  strange  house  while  her 
hostess  was  asleep,  drinking  tea  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

When  I  stood  up  he  stood  up,  too,  and  looked 
down  at  me.  "It  is  worth  while  having  been  a  brute 
and  a  villain,"  he  said  soberly,  "to  hear  that.  I  am 
not  under  arrest  or  going  to  be.  The  fact  is  that 
two  entirely  different  and — if  you  will  forgive  me 
— nefarious  schemes  have  been  under  way  at  the 
same  time,  and  the  lines  crossed.  You  and  I  got 
tangled  in  them  and  nearly  submerged.  But  that 
was  not  accident;  it  was  destiny."  He  took  my 
other  hand. 


228 AFFINITIES 

At  that  absorbing  moment  the  footman  announced 
cautiously  that  the  motor  was  at  the  door.  It  was 
horribly  disappointing.  From  destiny  to  motor 
wraps  is  such  a  descent. 

"Do  we  have  to  go  right  away*?"  I  said. 

VIII 

It  was  just  dawn  when  we  started,  one  of  the  grey 
dawns  that  have  a  suggestion  of  pink,  like  a  smoke- 
coloured  chiffon  over  a  rose  foundation.  The  rain 
was  over,  and  down  in  the  valley  below  us  lay  sha 
dowy  white  lakes  of  mist.  I  threw  back  my  head 
and  took  a  great  breath. 

"How  beautiful!"  I  said.  And  he  repeated, 
"Beautiful !"  But  he  looked  directly  at  me.  I  had 
a  queer,  thrilly  feeling  in  the  back  of  my  neck. 

And  then  we  were  flying  down  the  hillside  we  had 
climbed  so  painfully  the  night  before,  and  were 
dipping  into  the  mist  pools.  Here  and  there  grey 
shadows  moved  under  the  trees  and  resolved  them 
selves  first  into  rocks  and  then  into  sheep.  (My  de 
scriptions  are  improving.)  And  as  we  went  along 
he  told  me  the  story. 

It  seems  he  had  come  back  from  America  for  a 
visit,  and  on  the  second  day  of  his  stay  the  Wim- 
berley  Romney  had  been  stolen  by  an  expert  picture 
thief  posing  as  a  tourist.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       220 

of  the  visitor,  so  when  the  Romney'was  missed  he 
started  out  at  once  on  the  search,  taking  a  motor 
cycle.  The  whole  countryside  was  roused,  and  three 
detectives  came  down  from  London.  But  he  had  an 
idea  that  he  would  find  his  man  somewhere  on  the 
moor,  and  he  had  lost  himself  there.  After  a  night 
under  a  rock  he  had  found  a  cottage  and  got  his 
bearings.  But  the  rain  kept  him  there.  He  had 
got  as  far  as  Harcourt  Hall  when  another  storm 
came  up.  To  his  surprise  he  found  the  place  almost 
in  decay,  but  the  house  open.  He  went  in,  dropped 
asleep  in  the  morning-room  on  a  divan,  wakened  by 
hearing  me  pass  within  a  foot  of  where  he  lay,  and 
followed  me.  When  I  threw  my  necklace  at  him, 
at  first  he  was  puzzled  and  amused.  Later,  he  kept 
it  deliberately. 

The  next  part  of  his  story  he  had  secured,  I  think 
he  said,  by  sitting  on  Bagsby's  chest  down  the  road, 
after  he  had  escaped  by  means  of  a  broken  shutter 
from  the  rear  room  where  we  had  locked  him.  Bags- 
by  had  had  a  puncture,  and  finding  he  had  no  time 
to  go  back  to  Ivry  for  Daphne  and  the  rest,  he  went 
directly  to  the  station.  A  train  had  just  pulled  out, 
and  a  man  in  an  ulster  and  travelling-cap  was  stand 
ing  on  the  platform.  He  said,  "The  car  for  Gre- 
sham  Place,  sir" — which  is  what  he  was  to  say — 
and  the  gentleman  climbed  in.  But  about  two  miles 
out  of  town  he  (the  passenger)  had  discovered  he 


230 AFFINITIES 

had  made  a  mistake,  and  demanded  to  be  set  down. 
But  Bagsby  had  his  orders.  He  carried  him  to  the 
door  of  the  Hall  on  the  third  speed,  and  the  rest  we 
knew. 

"Then,"  I  cried  breathlessly,  "Sir  George  was  not 
—Sir  George!" 

"Far  from  it,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Poor  old 
chap,  what  a  front  he  put  up!  It  seems  that  after 
he  got  the  picture  the  alarm  was  raised  too  soon  for 
him.  He  cut  back  over  the  country  to  make  the 
railroad  at  Hepburn,  and  was  overtaken  by  a  storm. 
He  found  the  Hall,  crawled  in  through  a  rear  win 
dow,  concealed  the  picture  there — it  is  still  rolled 
in  that  carpet  in  the  room  where  we  hid,  and  waited 
for  the  storm  to  cease.  But  hunger  drove  him  out. 
The  picture  off  his  hands,  he  made  a  break  for  it, 
got  to  Newbury  just  in  time  to  miss  the  train,  saw 
the  constable  and  a  posse  approaching  in  a  machine 
and  bristling  with  guns,  and  at  that  minute  Bagsby 
said:  'Gresham  Place,  sir.'  From  that  time  on  he 
was  virtually  our  prisoner,  poor  chap.  He  fell  in 
with  the  plot  because  he  didn't  know  what  else  to 
do.  But  what  a  shock  it  must  have  been  when  Bags 
by  dumped  him  back  at  the  Hall,  after  he  had 
walked  six  miles  to  get  away  from  it." 

"But  you*?"  I  exclaimed  in  bewilderment.  "If 
you  knew  all  the  time ' 

"I  didn't.    I  did  not  recognise  him  until  he  took 


off  his  mackintosh  at  the  lodge.  After  that  I  had 
two  problems :  to  capture  him  without  alarming  you, 
and  to  prevent  the  old- woman  constable  of  the  coun 
try  from  discovering  us  and  dragging  you  and 
Daphne  and  all  the  rest  into  notoriety.  Thanks  to 
your  cooperation  it  will  never  be  known  that  a 
Suffragette  plot  to  kidnap  the  Prime  Minister  was 
foiled  last  night." 

"Then — the  real  Prime  Minister" — I  could  hard 
ly  speak.  I  was  horribly  disappointed.  I  had  hitched 
my  wagon  to  a  star  and  it  had  turned  out  to  be  a 
dirt-grubbing  little  meteorite. 

"His  grandchildren  at  Gresham  Place  took  mea 
sles  and  they  telegraphed  him  not  to  come." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  We  were  both 
thinking.  Then : 

"I  am  sure  you  managed  it  all  very  nicely,"  I 
conceded,  "and  I  am  very  grateful  now  that  you 
saved  my  necklace  and — and  all  that.  But  if  you 
think  you  captured  him  without  alarming  me  you 
are  mistaken.  I  shall  never,  never  be  the  same  per 
son  again.  And  as  for  the  reward,  I  don't  want  it. 
I  shall  give  it  to  Daphne  for  The  Cause." 

He  looked  around  at  me  quickly.  "To  take  my 
place,"  I  amended.  "I  don't  really  care  anything 
about  voting,  and,  anyhow,  I  should  never  do  it 
properly.  They  will  welcome  the  money  in  my 
place,  although  doesn't  it  really  belong  to  you?" 


232 AFFINITIES 

"I  have  already  three  rewards,"  he  said,  looking 
straight  ahead.  "The  revolver  which  you  emptied 
for  fear  our  friend  might  shoot  me,  the  limp  little 
ball  that  is  your  handkerchief  in  my  breast  pocket, 
and  this  hour  that  belongs  to  me — the  dawn,  the 
empty  world,  and  you  sharing  it  all  with  me.  Do 
you  know,"  he  went  on,  "that  Daphne  has  seventeen 
pictures  of  you,  and  that  I  used  to  say  I  was  going 
to  marry  you?  There  was  one  in  very  short  skirts 

and  long,  white " 

"Mercy !"  I  broke  in.  "What  is  that  over  there  *" 
The  mist  had  parted  like  a  curtain,  and  on  a 
lower  road  we  saw,  moving  slowly,  a  strange  proces 
sion.  We  stopped  the  machine  and  watched.  Daphne 
was  leading.  She  had  the  tail  of  her  pink  velvet 
gown  thrown  up  over  her  shoulders  and  she  was  in 
her  stocking  feet.  She  carried  her  slippers  dejectedly 
in  her  hand  and  she  was  ploughing  along  without 
ever  troubling  to  seek  a  path.  Behind  her  trailed  the 
others.  Most  of  them  limped :  all  were  mud-stained 
and  dishevelled.  An  early  sun-ray  touched  Violet 
jand  showed  her  wrapped,  toga-fashion,  in  the  hall 
banner.  The  red  letters  of  "Votes  for  Women"  ran 
around  her  diagonally  like  the  stripes  of  a  barber- 
pole.  Poppy  was  trailing  listlessly  at  the  end  of  the 
procession,  her  gown  abandoned  to  its  fate  and 
sweeping  two  yards  behind  her;  a  ribbon  fillet  with 
a  blue  satin  rose  that  had  nestled  above  her  ear  had 


THE  BORROWED  HOUSE       233 

become  dislodged  and  the  rose  now  hung  dispiritedly 
at  the  back  of  her  neck.  Her  short  hair  was  all  out 
of  curl  and  lay  matted  in  very  straight  little  strands 
over  her  head. 

And  bringing  up  the  tail  of  the  procession — kick 
ing  viciously  at  Poppy's  blue  satin  train  in  front  of 
him — came  Bagsby,  a  sheepish  Bagsby  loaded  down 
with  the  hamper,  a  pail,  a  broom  and  a  double- 
burner  lamp  with  green  shades.  Even  as  he  watched 
he  took  a  hasty  look  ahead  at  the  plodding  back  of 
his  mistress,  raised  the  lamp  aloft  and  flung  it 
against  a  stone.  The  crash  was  colossal,  but  not  one 
head  was  turned  to  see  the  cause.  They  struggled 
along,  sunk  in  deep  bitterness  and  gloom. 

And  so  they  passed  across  our  perspective,  unsee 
ing,  unheeding,  and  the  mists  of  the  valley  claimed 
them  again. 

The  man  beside  me  turned  to  me,  his  hands  on 
the  wheel.  "Are  you  sorry  you  are  not  with  them*?" 
he  asked  gently.  But  I  cowered  back  in  my  wraps 
and  shook  my  head.  "Take  me  home,"  I  implored, 
"and  please  don't  look  at  me  again.  If  they  all 
look  like  that  I  must  be  unspeakable !" 

"We  will  get  there  ahead  and  wait  for  them  to 
gether,"  he  said.  "And  tonight  I  shall  bring  Thad 
and  Blanche  over  to  meet  you.  You — you  won't 
mind  seeing  me  again  so  soon4?" 


234 AFFINITIES 

"Oh,  no,"  I  said  hastily.  "It — it  is  hours  until 
evening." 

"It  will  seem  like  eternities,"  he  reflected. 

"Yes,  it  will,"  I  said. 

(For  it  would  to  me,  and  if  a  man  likes  you  and 
you  like  him,  why  not  let  him  know  it1?  And  if  he 
liked  me  the  way  I  looked  then,  what  would  he 
think  when  he  saw  me  clothed  properly  and  in  my 
right  mind?) 

He  leaned  over  and  kissed  my  hands  as  they  lay 
in  my  lap.  "Bless  you!"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you 
couldn't  possibly  wear  that  gown?  Will  you  have 
to  throw  it  away?" 

"No,"  I  announced,  "I  am  going  to  lay  it  away. 
I — I  may  use  it  some  time." 

"How?"  He  was  as  curious  as  a  child.  "Are 
you  going  to  make  a  banner  of  it,  with  gold  fringe 
all  round  and  'Votes  for  Women'  embroidered  on 
it?" 

"No!"  I  said  decisively. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER 

IT  was  on  a  Thursday  evening  that  Basil  Ward 
came  to  Poppy's  house  at  Lancaster  Gate.  We 
had  been  very  glum  at  dinner,  with  Poppy  staring 
through  me  with  her  fork  half  raised,  and  dabs  of 
powder  around  her  eyes  so  I  wouldn't  know  she  had 
been  crying.  Vivian's  place  was  laid,  but  of  course 
&e  was  not  tfiere.  And  after  dinner  we  went  up  to 
the  drawing  room,  and  Poppy  worked  at  the  kitchen 
clock. 

We  heard  Basil  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  Poppy 
went  quite  pale.  The  alarm  on  the  clock  went  off 
just  then,  too,  and  for  a  'minute  we  both  thought 
we'd  been  blown  up. 

Basil  stood  in  the  doorway — he's  very  good-look 
ing,  Basil,  especially  when  he  is  excited.  And  he 
was  excited  now.  Poppy  rose  and  stared  at  him.  It 
was  very  dramatic. 

"Well?1'  she  said. 

"I'm  deucedly  sorry,  Poppy,"  said  Basil.  "He 
absolutely  refuses.  He  says  he'll  stay.  Says  he 
likes  it.  It's  extremely  quiet.  He  wants  his  pens 
and  some  paper  sent  over — has  an  idea  for  the  new 
book." 

237 


238 AFFINITIES 

Poppy's  color  came  back  in  two  spots  in  her  cheeks. 

"So  he  likes  it !"  she  observed.  "Very  well.  Then 
that's  settled."  She  turned  to  me.  "You've  heard 
Basil,  Madge,  and  you've  heard  me.  That's  all  there 
is  to  it." 

Poppy  is  very  excitable,  and  as  long  as  she  had 
the  clock  in  her  hand  Basil  stayed  near  the  door. 
Now,  however,  she  put  it  down,  and  Basil  came  in. 

"You  and  Vivian  are  a  pair  of  young  geese,"  he 
said  to  Poppy.  "It's  a  horrible  place." 

"Vivian  likes  it." 

"You  are  going  to  let  him  stay*?" 

"I  didn't  make  the  law.  You  men  make  these 
laws.  Now  try  living  up  to  them.  When  women 
have  the  vote " 

But  Basil  headed  her  off.    He  dropped  his  voice. 

"That  isn't  the  worst,  Mrs.  Viv,"  he  said  slowly. 
"He's — gone  on  a  hunger  strike !" 


I'd  been  in  England  for  six  months  visiting 
Daphne  Delaney,  who  is  my  cousin.  But  visiting 
Daphne  had  been  hard  work.  She  is  so  earnest. 
One  started  out  to  go  shopping  with  her,  and  ended 
up  on  a  counter  in  Harrod's  demanding  of  a  mob  of 
women  hunting  bargains  in  one-and-six  kids  (gloves) 
why  they  were  sheep. 

"Sheep!"  she  would  say,  eyeing  them  scornfully. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER   239 

"Silly  sheep  who  do  nothing  but  bleat — with  but  one 
occupation,  or  reason  for  living,  to  cover  your  backs !" 

Then  two  or  three  stately  gentlemen  in  frock-coats 
would  pull  her  down,  and  I  would  try  to  pretend  I 
was  not  with  her. 

Now  I  believe  in  Suffrage.  I  own  a  house  back 
home  in  America.  Father  gave  it  to  me  so  I  could 
dress  myself  out  of  the  rent.  (But  between  plumbers 
and  taxes  and  a  baby  with  a  hammer,  which  ruined 
the  paint,  I  never  get  much.  Mother  has  to  help.) 
The  first  thing  I  knew,  the  men  voted  to  pa^e  the 
street  in  front  of  the  old  thing,  and  I  had  to  give  up 
a  rose-coloured  charmeuse  and  pass  over  a  check 
But  that  isn't  all.  The  minute  the  street  was  paved, 
some  more  men  came  along  and  raised  my  taxes  be' 
cause  the  street  was  improved !  So  I  paid  two  hun 
dred  dollars  to  have  my  taxes  raised !  Just  wait ! 

That  made  me  strong  for  Suffrage.  And  of  course 
there  are  a  lot  of  other  things.  But  I'm  not  militant. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  it's  coming.  The 
American  men  are  just  doing  what  father  does  at 
Christmas  time.  For  about  a  month  beforehand  he 
talks  about  hard  times,  and  not  seeing  his  way  clear 
and  all  that.  And  on  Christmas  morning  he  comes 
down  stairs  awfully  glum,  with  one  hand  behind  him. 
He  looks  perfectly  miserable,  but  he's  really  having 
the  time  of  his  life.  We  always  play  up.  We  kiss 
him  and  tell  him  never  to  mind ;  maybe  he  can  do  it 


240  AFFINITIES 

next  year.  And  we're  always  awfully  surprised  when 
he  brings  his  hand  around  with  checks  for  every 
body,  bigger  than  they'd  expected. 

(That's  the  way  with  Suffrage  in  America.  The 
men  are  holding  off,  and  having  a  good  time  doing 
it.  But  they'll  hand  it  over  pretty  soon,  with 
bells  on.  The  American  man  always  gives  his 
womenkind  what  they  want,  if  they  want  it  hard 
enough.  Only  he's  holding  off  a  little,  so  they'll  ap 
preciate  it  when  they  get  it.) 

It  was  after  the  affair  of  the  Prime  Minister  that 
I  left  Daphne.  We  kidnapped  him,  you  remember, 
only  it  turned  out  to  be  someone  else,  and  Violet 
Harcourt-Standish  got  in  awfully  wrong  and  had  to 
go  to  the  Riviera.  I  really  did  not  wish  to  kidnap 
him,  but  the  thing  came  up  at  tea  at  Daphne's  one 
day,  and  one  hates  to  stay  out  of  things. 

Poppy  was  going  on  a  motor  trip  just  then,  and 
when  she  asked  me  to  go  along,  I  agreed.  I  was 
spending  a  Sunday  with  her. 

"I'm  not  running  away,  Madge,"  she  explained. 
"But  I'm  stony  broke,  and  that's  the  truth.  I'll  have 
to  get  back  to  work." 

"You  can't  work  in  the  motor." 

Poppy  paints,  and  makes  a  lot  of  money — mural 
decorations,  you  know,  panels  for  public  buildings, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  241 

"I  want  sea,  sea  with  mist  over  it,  and  rocks. 
And  a  cave " 

"Caves  are  damp.    There  are  plenty  of  hotels." 

"A  cave,"  she  said,  examining  her  cigarette  dream 
ily,  "with  the  sea  coming  in  against  a  setting  sun, 
and  the  spray  every  color  in  the  world.  I  think  it's 
Tintagel,  Madge." 

Poppy  is  terribly  pretty,  and  this  is  her  story,  not 
mine. 

"That's  a  sweet  frock,"  I  said.  "Did  you  hear 
that  man  to-day,  when  you  were  speaking  at  the 
Monument?  He  said,  'Bless  its  pretty  'eart ' ' 

Poppy's  hair  is  the  softest,  straightest  hair  you 
ever  saw,  and  her  nose  is  short  and  childish.  Her 
eyes  are  soft,  too,  and  her  profile  is  so  helpless  that 
the  bobbies  help  her  across  the  streets.  But  her  full 
face  is  full  of  character. 

"Was  he  in  front  of  me?"  she  demanded. 

"At  the  side." 

We  both  understood.  It  was  her  profile  again. 
She  fell  back  in  her  chair  and  sighed. 

"If  you  could  address  the  House  of  Lords  in 
profile,"  I  said,  "you'd  get  the  vote." 

"That's  rot,  you  know,"  she  retorted.  But  she 
coloured.  She  knew  and  she  knew  I  knew  that  her 
new  photographs  were  profile  ones.  And  we  both 
knew,  too,  that  they  were  taken  because  Vivian  Har- 
court  had  demanded  a  picture. 


242 AFFINITIES 

"You're  not  doing  the  right  thing,  Poppy,"  I  ac 
cused  her.  "For  one  day  in  the  week  that  Viv  sees 
you,  there  are  six  days  for  him  to  look  at  that  pic 
ture/' 

"He  isn't  obliged  to  look  at  it  at  all." 

"So  long  as  women  beg  the  question  like  that,"  I 
said  severely,  "just  so  long  do  they  postpone  serious 
consideration  for  the  Cause." 

She  leaned  back  and  laughed — rather  rudely.  The 
English  can  be  very  rude  sometimes.  They  call  it 
frankness. 

"The  ridiculous  thing  about  you  is  that  you  don't 
know  anything  about  the  Cause,"  she  said.  "With 
you,  it's  a  fad.  It's  the  only  thing  you  can't  have, 
so  you  want  it,  little  Madge.  With  some  of  us  it's 
— well,  I  can't  talk  about  it." 

It  made  me  furious.  The  idea  of  dedicating  your 
life  to  a  thing,  and  then  being  accused 

"I  think  enough  of  the  Cause  to  stand  out  all  day 
in  a  broiling  sun,"  I  snapped,  "and  be  burnt  to  a 
cinder.  Didn't  I  pass  out  your  wretched  literature 
for  hours  and  make  six  shillings?" 

"Don't  call  it  wretched  literature,"  she  said  gently. 
"But — now  think  a  minute.  If  it  came  to  a  show 
down — your  own  expression,  isn't  it — a  question  be 
tween  one  of  these  men  who  are  so  mad  about  you, 
Basil  or  any  of  the  others — and  the  Cause,  which 
would  it  be?" 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  243 

"Both,"  I  replied  promptly. 

She  laughed  again. 

"You  delightful  little  hypocrite!"  she  cried.  "A 
Compromise,  then !  Not  victory,  but  a  truce !  Oh, 
martyr  to  the  Cause !" 

"And  you?" 

"The  Cause,"  she  said,  and  turned,  fullface  to  me. 

Well,  of  course  that  was  Poppy's  affair.  I  be 
lieve  in  living  up  to  one's  conviction,  and  all  that. 
But  when  you  think  of  the  lengths  to  which  she  car 
ried  her  conviction,  and  the  horrible  situation  that 
developed,  it  seems  an  exceedingly  selfish  theory  of 
life.  I  believe  in  diplomatic  compromise. 

(I  wrote  the  whole  conversation  that  night  to 
father,  and  he  cabled  a  reply.  He  generally  cables, 
being  very  busy.  He  said,  "Life  is  a  series  of  com 
promises.  Who  is  Basil?") 

Well,  we  got  started  at  last.  Poppy  left  in  a 
raging  temper  over  something  or  other — a  bill  be 
fore  the  house,  I  think.  I  was  so  busy  getting  packed 
that  I  forgot  what  it  was,  if  I  ever  knew — and  hardly 
spoke  for  twenty  miles.  But  at  Guildford  she  re 
covered  her  temper.  It  was  the  time  of  the  Assizes, 
and  the  Sheriff  was  lunching  at  our  hotel.  His  gilt 
coach  was  at  the  door,  with  a  footman  in  wig  and 
plush,  white  stockings  and  buckles,  and  a  most  mag 
nificent  coachman.  Poppy's  eyes  narrowed.  She 
pointed  to  the  footman's  ornamented  legs. 


244 AFFINITIES 

"The  great  babies !"  she  said.  "How  a  man  loves 
to  dress!  Government,  is  it?  Eighteenth  century 
costumes  and  mediaeval  laws !  Government — in  gold 
lace  and  a  cocked  hat!  Law  in  its  majesty,  Madge, 
with  common  sense  and  common  justice  in  rags. 

That  can  vote,  while  you  and  I "  she  stopped 

for  breath. 

The  footman's  calves  twitched,  but  he  looked 
straight  ahead. 

I  got  her  into  the  building  somehow  or  other.  She 
looked  quite  calm,  except  that  she  was  breathing 
hard.  I  confess  that  I  thought  she  was  ashamed  of 
herself;  I  reminded  her  that  she  had  promised  to  be 
quiet  on  this  trip,  and  I  told  her,  as  firmly  as  I  could, 
that  it  wasn't  proper  to  make  fun  of  a  man's  legs. 

She  powdered  her  i&ose  and  looked  penitent  and 
distractingly  pretty. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "It's  this  parade  of  au 
thority  that  gets  on  my  nerves,  and  this  glittering 
show  of  half  the  people  ruling  all  the  people." 

When  she  came  back  from  ordering  the  luncheon 
she  was  smiling.  I  thought  it  was  all  over.  (I  am 
telling  this  incident,  not  because  it  belongs  to  the 
story,  but  because  it  sheds  a  light  on  Poppy's  char 
acter,  and  perhaps  explains  what  came  later.) 

"Luncheon!"  she  said,  cheerfully,  "with  straw 
berries  as  big  as  a  teacup,  and  clotted  cream." 

I  think  my  mind  was  on  the  clotted  cream,  for  1 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  245 

followed  her  past  one  dining-room  to  a  second,  a 
long,  low  room,  full  of  men.  She  pushed  me  in 
ahead. 

"I — I  think  it's  the  wrong  room,  Poppy,"  I  said. 
"There's  the " 

It  was  the  wrong  room,  and  she  knew  it.  The 
Sheriff  was  at  the  centre  table  and  near  him  was  a 
great  serving  stand,  with  hot  and  cold  roasts  and 
joints. 

I  tried  to  back  out,  but  at  that  moment  Poppy 
slammed  the  door  and  locked  it. 

"Don't  yell !"  she  said  to  me  under  her  breath,  and 
dropped  something  ice-cold  down  my  back.  The 
key! 

About  half  the  men  started  to  their  feet.  Poppy 
raised  a  hand. 

"Gentlemen,"  she  said,  "you  need  not  rise!  I 
have  a  few  things  I  would  like  to  say  while  you  finish 
luncheon.  I  shall  be  entirely  orderly.  The  question 
of  the  Suffrage " 

They  dodged  as  if  she  had  been  loaded  with 
shrapnel  instead  of  a  speech.  They  shouted  and 
clamored.  They  ordered  us  out.  And  all  the  time 
the  door  was  locked  and  the  key  was  down  my  back. 

"Poppy !"  I  said,  clutching  her  arm.  "Poppy,  for 
the  love  of  heaven " 

She  had  forgotten  me  absolutely.  When  she 
finally  turned  her  eyes  on  me,  she  never  even  saw  me. 


246 AFFINITIES 

"The  door  is  locked,  gentlemen,"  she  said.  "Locked 
and  the  key  hidden.  If  you  will  give  me  five 
minutes " 

But  they  would  not  listen.  The  Sheriff  sat  still 
and  ate  his  luncheon.  Time  might  come  and  time 
might  go,  tides  flow  and  ebb,  old  eras  give  way  to 
new — but  the  British  lion  must  be  fed.  But  once  I 
caught  his  eye,  and  I  almost  thought  it  twinkled. 
Perish  the  thought !  The  old  order  wink  at  the  new ! 

They  demanded  the  key.  The  lunch  hour  was 
over.  The  Assizes  waited.  In  vain  Poppy  plead 
for  five  minutes  to  talk. 

"After  that,  I'll  turn  over  the  key,"  she  promised. 

The  only  way  she  could  have  turned  over  the  key 
was,  of  course,  to  take  me  into  a  corner,  stand  me 
on  my  head  and  jounce  it  out !  I  was  very  nervous, 
I'll  confess.  No  one  had  laid  a  hand  on  A  oppy  ac 
yet.  She  was  so  young  and  good  looking,  and  the 
minute  anybody  loomed  very  close,  she  turned  her 
baby  profile  to  him  and  he  looked  as  if  he'd  been 
caught  gunning  for  butterflies. 

Finally,  however,  the  noise  becoming  a  tumult, 
and  Poppy  and  I  forced  back  against  the  door,  the 
Lord  High  Sheriff — which  sounds  like  Gilbert  & 
Sullivan — approached.  The  crowd  made  respectful 
way  for  him. 

"Now,  young  ladies,"  he  said,  "this  has  been  an 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  247 

agreeable  break  in  our  long  day.  But — all  pleasant 
things  must  end.  Open  the  door,  please." 

"Will  you  give  me  five  minutes'?"  Poppy  de 
manded.  "I'm  a  tax-payer.  I  help  to  pay  the  people 
in  this  room.  I  have  a  right  to  be  heard." 

"Open  the  door,"  said  the  Sheriff. 

"No." 

"Then  give  up  the  key,  and  one  of  my  men " 

I  caught  his  arm.  I  couldn't  stand  it  another 
minute.  It  is  all  well  enough  for  Poppy  to  say  it 
was  cowardly,  and  that  the  situation  was  ours  until 
I  gave  it  away.  The  key  was  not  down  her  back. 

"Break  the  lock,"  I  said  frantically.  "The— the 
key  is  where  I  can't  get  it." 

He  was  really  twinkling  now,  but  the  crowd 
around  was  outraged  for  him  and  his  dignity. 

"You  didn't  swallow  it,  did  you?"  he  asked  in 
an  undertone. 

"It's  down  the  back  of  my  frock,"  I  replied. 

Poppy  said  afterwards  that  I  cried  and  made  a 
scene  and  disgraced  her  generally.  It  is  not  true.  If 
tears  came,  they  were  tears  of  rage.  It  is  not  true 
that  I  cried  on  the  Sheriff's  breast.  I  only  leaned  my 
head  against  his  arm  for  a  minute,  and  he  was  not 
angry,  for  he  patted  my  shoulder.  I  am  terribly 
fond  of  Poppy,  but  she  is  not  always  reasonable,  as 
you  will  see. 

There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  noise.    I  remember 


248  AFFINITIES 


hearing  echoes  of  the  dining-room  excitement  from 
the  hallway  beyond  the  door,  and  some  one  pound 
ing.  They  were  breaking  the  lock  from  the  outside. 
All  the  time  Poppy  was  talking  in  her  lovely  soft 
voice.  She  said: 

"Since  woman  is  called  on  to  obey  the  laws,  she 
ought  to  have  a  voice  in  making  them " 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  somebody. 

"Since  she  doesn't  make  them,  why  should  she 
obey  them?"  demanded  Poppy,  lifting  violet  eyes  to 
the  crowd. 

"I  didn't  make  the  Ten.  Commandments,"  said  a 
voice  from  the  rear  of  the  room,  "but  I'll  get  hell  just 
the  same  if  I  break  them.  What  have  you  got  to  say 
about  that*?" 

Poppy  was  stumped  for  once.  I  believe  it  was  the 
most  humiliating  moment  of  her  public  life. 

Luckily  die  lock  broke  just  then,  and  we  were 
hustled  out  of  the  room.  There  was  a  crowd  in  the 
hall,  and  it  was  most  disagreeable.  I  expected  to  be 
arrested,  of  course — although  I'd  been  arrested  be 
fore,  and  if  one  is  sensible  and  eats,  it  is  not  so  bad 
— but  the  crowd,  feeling  it  had  the  best  of  things 
with  the  Ten  Commandments,  was  in  high  good 
humor.  They  let  us  by  without  a  word  and  the 
Sheriff  himself  stood  on  the  steps  while  we  got  into 
our  car. 

Just  as  Poppy's  chauffeur  got  the  engine  started, 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  249 

the  landlord  ran  out  and  demanded  the  key.  Poppy 
told  the  chauffeur  to  go  on,  in  a  frantic  voice,  but  he 
hesitated.  All  the  majesty  of  British  law  was  there 
on  the  steps,  and  the  gold  coach  was  waiting.  Of 
course,  to  be  arrested  for  disturbing  the  peace  with  a 
suffrage  speech  is  one  thing,  but  theft  is  another.  I 
threw  a  pleading  glance  at  the  Sheriff,  and  he  came 
slowly  down  the  steps.  Men  with  wands  kept  the 
crowd  back.  The  fat  coachman  with  the  wig  did 
not  turn  his  head,  but  the  footman  at  the  coach  door 
leered  and  avenged  his  calves.  Even  Poppy  went  a 
little  pale. 

"Quick,"  said  the  Sheriff,  ferociously,  in  a  low 
tone,  "give  me  something  that  looks  like  a  key,  and 
then  get  away  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

I  opened  my  pocketbook.  The  only  thing  that 
was  even  the  size  of  a  key  was  my  smelling  salts 
bottle.  So  I  gave  him  that,  and  he  covered  it  with 
his  big  hand.  Then,  still  frowning  savagely,  he 
made  us  a  lordly  gesture  to  move  on. 

(Have  you  ever  been  in  the  Forum  Club  building 
that  Poppy  decorated?  The  staircase  walls  are  won 
derful — crowds  of  women,  poor  and  old,  young  and 
rich  with  clouds  around  them  and  so  on,  all  ascend 
ing  toward  a  saintly  person  with  a  k«y — Saint  Peter, 
or  somebody.  Well,  the  saint  is  the  Sheriff  at  Guild- 
ford,  and  the  key  is  a  salts  bottle,  if  you  look 
closely.) 


250 AFFINITIES 

We  slept  at  Bournemouth  that  night.  Or  rather, 
we  didn't  sleep.  Poppy  sat  up  half  the  night  trying 
to  think  of  an  answer  to  the  ten  commandment  thing. 
She  said  she'd  get  that  again — she  felt  it — and  what 
was  she  to  say?  I  had  recovered  the  key  and  my 
good  humor  by  that  time,  but  I  could  not  help 
much.  Seeing  her  so  disturbed,  I  had  not  the  heart 
to  tell  her  what  I  suspected.  But  I  was  sure  that 
I  had  seen  Vivian  Harcourt  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd 
at  Guildford.  It  would  have  made  her  furious  to 
think  that  she  was  under  any  sort  of  espionage.  But 
Vivian  was  following  us,  I  felt  confident,  with 
enough  money  to  bail  us  out  if  she  did  anything  reck 
less.  He  knew  her,  you  see. 

That  is  why  all  the  rest  of  it  seems  so  silly. 
Vivian  knew  Poppy;  he  knew  her  convictions,  and 
her  courage.  For  him  to  do  the  baby  thing  later 
was  stupid.  And  anyhow,  if  it  was  hard  on  him, 
what  was  it  for  me  ? 

Poppy  slept  late  in  the  morning,  and  I  got  up  and 
went  down  to  the  pier,  a  melancholy  place,  wet  with 
morning  mist  and  almost  deserted.  There  were  rows 
of  beach  chairs,  and  bathing  machines  and  over 
turned  boats  littering  the  beach,  and  not  a  soul  in 
sight  but  a  few  fishermen.  I  sat  there  and  thought 
of  Newport  on  a  bright  July  morning,  with  chil 
dren  and  nurses  on  the  sand,  and  throngs  of  people, 
and  white  sailboats  and  nice  young  men  in  flannels 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  251 

I  was  awfully  homesick  for  a  minute.  And  it 

came  over  me,  too,  that  I  had  no  particular  business 
helping  the  Cause  in  England,  and  having  keys  put 
down  my  back,  and  giving  up  my  gold-topped  salts 
bottle,  which  was  a  present  from  Basil  Ward,  when 
all  the  time  the  Cause  at  home  was  fighting  just  as 
grimly  and  much  more  politely. 

Vivian  was  on  the  pier,  at  the  very  end.  He  was 
sitting  looking  out,  with  his  finger  hooked  around 
his  cigarette  (which  is  Cambridge  fashion,  I  believe, 
or  may  be  the  King  does  it)  and  looking  very  glum. 

"Where  is  she?    In  jail?'  he  demanded. 

"She's  asleep,  poor  thing,"  I  said. 

He  snorted. 

"Lots  of  sleep  I've  had,"  he  said.  "Look  here, 
Madge,  is  she  going  to  take  her  vacation  by  locking 
up  Sheriffs  all  along  the  route?  Because  if  she  is, 
I'm  going  back  to  London." 

"I  think  it  very  likely,"  I  replied,  coldly.  "You'd 
better  go  back  anyhow;  she'll  be  murderous  if  she 
knows  she's  followed." 

He  groaned. 

"I  can't  leave  her  alone,  can  I?" 

"I'm  along." 

He  laughed.    It  was  rude  of  him. 

"You!"  he  said.  "Madge,  tell  me  honestly-^ 
where  was  the  key?" 


252 AFFINITIES 

"She  put  it  down  my  back." 

He  fairly  howled  with  joy.  I  hated  him.  But 
he  calmed  before  long,  and  offered  me  a  cigarette  as 
a  peace  offering.  I  declined. 

"You'd  better  go  along,"  he  said.  "She  may  need 
the — back  again.  Madge,  is  there  any  chance  for 
me  with  her?" 

"Well,  she  likes  you,  when  you  are  not  hi  the 
way." 

"I'd  be  in  the  way  now,  I  suppose,  if  I  turned  up 
to-night  at — where  do  you  stop*?" 

"At  Torquay.  Look  here,  Vivian,  I've  just 
thought  of  something.  She's  put  out  about  a  thing 
a  man  said  yesterday.  She  wants  an  answer.  She's 
got  arguments,  but  what  she  wants  is  a  retort — 
about  six  words  and  smart.  If  you  could  give  her 
one,  she'd  probably  forgive  you  hanging  around,  and 
all  that." 

So  I  told  him  about  the  ten  commandments  and 
Poppy  knowing  she'd  get  it  again  and  sitting  up  to 
worry  it  out.  He  said  it  was  easy.  He'd  have 
something  to  break  his  appearance  at  Torquay.  But 
it  wasn't  as  easy  as  it  seemed  at  first.  I  left  him  sit 
ting  there,  looking  out  to  sea,  with  a  notebook  on 
his  knee.  He  called  after  me  that  he'd  follow  us,  a 
few  miles  behind,  but  he  wouldn't  turn  up  until  he 
had  thought  of  something  worth  while. 

According  to  Basil,  it  was  he  who  finally  thought 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  253 

of  something.  It  seems  that  Vivian  wrote  out  pages 
of  a  reply,  saying  that  if  the  questioner  compared 
man-made  law  with  the  ten  commandments,  then  he 
made  Parliament  and  the  House  of  Lords  divine, 
and  that  this  was  a  reductio  ad  absurdum^  which  is 
Greek  or  something  for  ridiculous.  But  he  almost 
went  mad  trying  to  make  it  short,  and  it  wasn't 
funny  at  all.  Whereas,  as  he  knew  very  well,  the 
only  chance  the  speaker  had,  in  such  a  case,  was  to 
get  a  laugh.  What  he  really  needed  was  a  retort, 
not  a  reply. 

We  made  rather  slow  progress.  In  the  first  place, 
Poppy  learned  that  the  chauffeur,  who  was  a  new 
one  and  quite  intelligent,  was  not  in  favour  of  suf 
frage,  and  for  hours  we  crawled  along,  while  she  ar 
gued  with  him.  And  in  the  second  place,  we  stopped 
frequently  to  nail  up  posters  along  the  roadside, 
Vivian  said  later  that  he  trailed  us  quite  easily,  and 
that  there  were  times  when  he  was  only  one  curve 
in  the  road  behind.  He  used  to  get  out  and  putter 
over  the  engine  to  pass  the  time  and  let  us  get  ahead. 
He  did  not  appear  at  Torquay,  so  I  knew  he  wasn't 
getting  along  well  with  the  ten  commandments. 

But  except  being  put  out  of  a  hotel  at  Exeter  for 
discovering  a  member  of  Parliament  there,  in  bed 
with  the  gout,  and  flinging  some  handbills  in  through 
the  transom,  the  rest  of  the  trip  was  very  peace 
ful.  Dartmoor  put  Poppy  into  a  trance;  the  heather 


254  AFFINITIES 


was  in  bloom,  and  she  made  sketches  and  colour 
bits,  and  lay  back  in  the  car  in  a  sort  of  dream,  plan 
ning  the  next  winter's  work. 

She  was  irritable  when  she  was  disturbed,  too. 
The  creative  instinct  is  a  queer  thing.  Once  Booties, 
the  chauffeur,  asked  her  a  question  when  she  was 
trying  to  catch  some  combination  or  other,  and  she 
answered  him  sharply. 

"When  the  women  go  to  vote,  Miss,"  he  said, 
turning  around  and  touching  his  cap,  "who  is  going 
to  mind  the  children?" 

"We  intend  to  establish  a  messenger  service,"  said 
Poppy,  with  a  crayon  in  her  mouth. 

"A  messenger  service?"    Booties'  eyes  stuck  out. 

"Yes.  To  summon  the  fathers  home  from  the 
pubs  to  hold  the  babies." 

(A  "pub"  of  course  is  an  English  saloon.) 

The  T.  C.  matter  was  still  bothering  Poppy  at 
intervals.  She  knew  as  well  as  anyone  that  she 
needed  a  laugh  in  her  retort,  and  as  you  have  seen, 
Poppy  is  too  earnest  to  be  funny.  I  said  this  to 
Basil  Ward  the  night  we  got  to  Tintagel 

Poppy  was  tired,  and  went  to  bed  early.  I  walked 
out  on  the  terrace,  and  Basil  was  there.  He  said 
Viv  had  sent  for  him  on  the  T.  C.  matter,  and  he 
had  something  in  view. 

"He  gave  it  up,  poor  chap,"  he  said.  "He  isn't 
humorous,  you  know.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  and 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  255 

Poppy  are  both  so  bally  serious  that  it  makes  me 
wonder  how  they'll  hit  it  off." 

"If  she's  as  earnest  about  matrimony  as  she  is 
about  Suffrage,"  I  said,  "she'll  be  a  sincere  wife." 

Basil  said  nothing.  We  had  walked  out  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff,  and  were  leaning  against  the  rough 
stone  parapet.  ; 

"It's  rather  nice,  isn't  it,"  he  said  suddenly.  "Here 
we  are,  almost  at  Land's  End,  and  the  old  Atlantic 
— Madge,  will  you  give  me  a  perfectly  honest  an 
swer  to  a  question4?" 

I  braced  myself. 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  stay  over  here  in  England  because  your 
whole  heart  is  in  the  Cause4?" 

"Yje— es." 

"Your  whole  heart?" 

"Our  motives  are  always  mixed,  Basil,"  I  said 
kindly.  "It  would  have  been  awfully  silly  to  have 
endured  that  miserable  spring  and  not  have  stayed 
for  June  and  July." 

"You  get  a  great  many  cablegrams  from  America." 

"That,"  I  said,  with  dignity,  "is  of  course  my  owi? 
affair." 

"About  the  Cause?" 

"Not/ — always." 

"From  a  man,  of  course." 

"Yes,"  I  said  sweetly,  and  went  back  to  the  hotel. 


256  AFFINITIES 


I  broke  the  news  to  Poppy  about  Vivian  and  she 
stormed.  But  suddenly  she  stopped,  with  a  calculat 
ing  gleam  in  her  eye. 

"He's  a  fool  to  follow  me,"  she  said,  "but  he  has 
gleams  of  intelligence,  Madge.  I  shall  put  the  T.  C. 
matter  up  to  him !" 

So  I  sent  Viv  a  note  that  night.  You  see  one  must 
manage  Poppy 

"Dear  Viv:  She  knows  and  the  worst  is  over. 
Breakfast  early  and  keep  out  of  the  way  until  noon. 
She  is  going  to  work,  and  anyhow,  it  will  make  her 
curious.  If  you  have  a  good  retort  to  the  T.  C. 
business,  don't  give  it  at  once.  It  would  humiliate 
her.  Then,  when  you've  given  it  to  her,  if  she's 
pleased,  you  can  ask  her  the  other.  She's  silly  about 
you,  Viv,  but  she  won't  acknowledge  it  to  herself. 

Madge. 

P.  S.  Don't  make  any  stipulation  about  Suffrage, 
but  make  her  promise  to  let  you  do  and  think  as  you 
like.  Be  sure.  Get  her  to  write  it,  if  you  can.  I 
happen  to  know  that  if  she  marries  you,  she  hopes 
you'll  take  alternate  Sundays  with  her  at  the  Monu 
ment,  so  she  can  speak  at  Camberwell. 

M." 

Poppy  came  down  to  breakfast  in  her  best  morn 
ing  frock,  looking  lovely,  and  sat  with  her  profile 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  257 

to  the  room.  I  thought  she  watched  the  door,  too, 
and  she  took  only  an  egg,  although  she  usually  has 
a  kipper  also. 

But  neither  of  the  men  showed  up.  She  loitered 
over  the  Times,  but  at  last  she  got  her  sketching 
things,  and  we  went  out  to  the  cliff  head,  where 
there's  a  bench.  It  is  a  long  tongue  of  rock,  about 
twenty  feet  wide  or  so,  and  far  below,  on  each  side, 
the  ocean.  There  was  a  rough-haired  pony  out 
there  also,  and  the  three  of  us  were  crowded.  The 
pony  wanted  sugar  or  something,  and  kept  getting 
in  the  way.  Poppy  sketched,  but  her  heart  wasn't 
in  it  and  at  every  new  halloo  from  some  tourist  ex 
ploring  King  Arthur's  ruins  (The  Castle,  of  course) 
she  looked  up  expectantly. 

At  last  I  caught  sight  of  Basil  waving  to  me  from 
the  hotel,  and  I  went  back.  I  left  Poppy  there  alone, 
pretending  to  sketch,  although  it  was  perfectly  clear 
to  every  one  that  the  only  view  she  had  was  of  the 
pony's  mangy  side.  Shortly  after,  I  saw  Vivian, 
in  walking  tweeds,  going  along  one  of  the  sheep's 
paths  toward  her,  and  looking  very  handsome  and 
determined. 

Basil  and  I  sat  on  the  terrace  and  "concentrated." 
It  was  my  idea. 

"Will  her  to  take  him,"  I  said. 

"I  am,"  said  Basil,  looking  at  me. 

"She's  so  pretty,"  said  I. 


258 AFFINITIES 

"Lovely!"  said  Basil. 

"And  it's  such  a  natural  thing,"  I  went  on.  "He 
has  a  lot  of  character,  and  he's  gentle  as  well  as  firm." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Basil,  and  bowed. 

"I  don't  believe,"  I  said  severely,  "that  you  are 
concentrating." 

The  pony  had  got  around  behind  the  bench,  and 
we  lost  them  for  a  moment.  But  the  little  beast 
moved  off  just  then,  and  it  was  like  lifting  a  curtain. 
Poppy's  head  was  on  Vivian's  shoulder. 

"Good  old  Viv !"  said  Basil.  "Happy  chap !"  and 
sighed. 

a    %  •  •  •  •  •  • 

I  met  Vivian  as  I  went  down  to  luncheon.  He 
was  coming  up  three  stairs  at  a  time,  but  he  stopped 
and  drew  me  into  a  comer. 

"All  fixed,"  he  said.  "You're  a  trump,  Madge. 
The  T.  C.  did  it.  She's  promised  all  sorts  of  things." 

"And  you*?"  I  demanded.  I  thought  he  evaded 
my  eye. 

"I*?"  he  said.  "Well,  I've  agreed  not  to  inter 
fere  with  her  career.  That's  only  reasonable." 

"And—Suffrage4?" 

"She's  going  to  be  less  militant,"  he  said.  "Of 
course,  her  conviction  is  the  same.  I  want  her  to 
stand  by  her  principle.  I  wouldn't  respect  her  if 
ghe  didn't." 

It  didn't  quite  satisfy  me.    I  knew  Poppy.    But 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  259 

he  was  so  happy  that  I  said  nothing.  After  all, 
what  could  I  say"?  Viv  after  all  had  never  opposed 
Suffrage,  except  in  its  militant  form — although  I 
don't  believe  he  had  felt  the  necessity  for  it.  But 
the  trouble  was  that  Poppy  was  a  born  militant,  a 
born  aggressor.  And  he  had  promised  her  the 
strength  of  her  convictions ! 

(I  wrote  it  all  to  father  that  afternoon  and  his 
cablegram  came  when  I  was  back  in  London  again 
and  settled. 

"No  great  revolution  ever  accomplished  without 
bloodshed.") 


PART  SECOND 

WHEN  Poppy  and  Vivian  had  been  married 
and   gone   to   Brittany,    I    went    back    to 
Daphne's.     Daphne  was  very  discouraging  about 
them.    I  remember  her  standing  by  the  fire  and  orat 
ing,  with  her  tea  cup  in  her  hand. 

"There's  a  loss  somewhere — bound  to  be,"  she 
said.  Daphne  is  short  and  stout,  and  wears  her 
hair  short  and  curled  over  her  head  with  an  iron. 
"Either  Suffrage  loses  her,  or  she  loses  a  husband. 
I've  watched  it.  It  doesn't  do,  Maggie,"  which  is 
her  pet  name  for  me.  "A  Suffragist  as  valuable  as 
Poppy  should  not  marry.  You  remember  what  Jane 
Willoughby's  husband  said  to  her,  that  he  expected 
The  Cause  for  his  wife  to  be  himself,  and  that  if 
she'd  rather  raise  votes  for  women  than  a  family  of 
children  she  would  have  to  choose  at  once.  When 
she  asked  him  why  she  couldn't  do  both,  he  went  to 
Africa!" 

"Without  giving  her  an  answer?" 

"Bless  the  child,  there  isn't  any  answer!  It  isn't 
wisdom  that  takes  refuge  in  silence.  It's  silly,  be 
sotted,  dumbheaded  idiocy." 

"Viv  isn't  an  imbecile,"  I  said  feebly. 
260 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER   261 

"He's  a  male/'  she  snapped,  and  ran  her  fingers 
up  through  her  fringe,  so  that  she  appeared  to  stand 
in  a  gale  of  wind. 

The  first  blow  fell  about  a  week  after.  Poppy 
and  Vivian  came  home  from  their  wedding  trip. 
They  were  settled  in  Viv's  house  in  Lancaster  Gate, 
and  one  part  of  the  wings  was  being  turned  into  a 
studio  for  Poppy,  with  a  glass  roof.  Vivian  is  the 
playwright,  you  know,  and  his  study  was  to  be  be 
neath  her  work  shop,  with  a  private  staircase  con 
necting.  She  was  most  awfully  happy.  She'd 
brought  home  some  stunning  sketches,  and  her  first 
work  was  going  to  be  his  study  walls. 

Basil  and  I  were  asked  to  dinner.  Poppy  wanted 
to  talk  over  her  plans  with  us,  and  there  was  no  one 
else.  Poppy  was  radiant.  We  drank  to  the  pony  at 
Tintagel,  and  to  the  key  at  Guildford,  and  to  the 
new  play  and  the  new  paintings.  The  thing  was  a 
great  success  until  half  way  through  the  dinner,  when 
suddenly  Poppy  said: 

"By  the  way,  Viv,  the  income  tax  man  was  here 
today." 

I  felt,  for  some  reason,  as  I  had  felt  when  the  key 
went  down  my  back. 

Viv  smiled,  and  went  to  his  doom. 

"Just  imagine,  Basil,"  he  said.  "The  sweet  young 
person  across  the  table  made  more  than  I  did  last 
year !  Four  thousand  pounds !" 


262 AFFINITIES 

"I'm  too  commercially  successful  to  think  I  have 
any  real  genius,"  said  Poppy,  complacently. 

"And  some  small  sum  the  same  sweet  young  per 
son  will  have  to  pay  over  to  the  tax  man,"  Basil 
observed. 

Poppy  raised  her  violet  eyes. 

"I  don't  intend  to  pay  it,"  she  said. 

Vivian  put  down  his  glass. 

"That's  what  Madge  would  call  a  'bluff,'  "  he 
said,  with  his  eyes  on  her.  "You'll  be  obliged  to 
pay  it,  dearest.  You  know  that." 

"  'Taxation  without  representation'  is  what  it 
amounts  to."  Poppy's  face  was  dangerously  agree 
able.  "The  American  colonies  seceded,  didn't  they, 
for  something  like  that?  I  paid  it  last  year,  but  I 
made  up  my  mind  then  I'd  never  do  it  again." 

Basil  was  looking  very  uncomfortable. 

"I  gave  you  the  privilege  of  your  convictions," 
said  Viv,  stiffly.  "Of  course,  if  that's  your  intention, 
there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

Poppy  looked  puzzled. 

"But  it  is  wrong,  isn't  it?"  she  demanded.  "Surely 
that's  the  a.b.c.  of  the  reason  for  the  discontent  of 
Englishwomen." 

"The  principle  may  not  be  entirely  equitable.  Few 
laws  work  equally  well  for  all."  Vivian  now,  a 
little  white  about  the  lips.  "But,  such  as  it  is,  it's 
the  law  of  your  country." 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  263 

"I  didn't  choose  my  country,  or  make  it's  laws," 
Poppy  said  coldly.  "I  have  a  right  to  protest;  I'll 
not  pay  it." 

Now,  as  I  have  said  before,  motives  are  seldom 
unmixed.  I  think  what  Poppy  meant  to  do  was 
simply  to  register  a  protest,  refuse  to  pay,  make  a 
lot  of  fuss  about  it.  If  they  sent  her  to  jail,  being 
the  prominent  person  she  was — she  was  the  Honour 
able  Poppy,  I  think  I  forgot  to  say  that  before — it 
would  make  a  lot  of  feeling.  She  did  not  mind  jail 
very  much.  She'd  been  there  twice.  Then,  having 
asserted  her  principles,  she  could  get  sick  or  go  on 
a  hunger  strike,  and  Vivian  would  pay  the  tax  and 
get  her  out. 

Basil  laughed  with  assumed  cheerfulness. 

"Then  Viv  is  stuck  for  the  tax,"  he  said. 

Vivian  looked  across  the  table  and  met  Poppy's 
eyes. 

"That's  hardly  what  you  are  getting  at,  is  it?" 
he  asked.  "Your  protest  is  against  the  imposition 
of  the  tax,  isn't  it?  It's  a  matter  of  principle,  isn't 
it?  My  paying  it  wouldn't  help." 

"I  have  not  asked  you  to  pay  it." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  haven't  the  slightest  inten 
tion  of  paying  it,  Poppy.  You  put  me  in  an  absurd 
position,  that's  all." 

We  had  finished  dinner,  and  the  men  went  up  to 


264 AFFINITIES 

the  drawing  room  with  us.  A  funny  thought  struck 
Basil  on  the  way  up.  He  chuckled. 

"Of  course,  Viv,"  he  said,  "if  Poppy  sticks  to 
that,  you'll  have  to  do  something.  There's  the  Hus 
band's  Liability  Act.  You're  liable,  you  know." 

Basil  is  a  barrister. 

Well,  we  talked  of  other  things  and  pretended 
not  to  notice  Vivian's  strained  eyes  and  Poppy's 
high  color.  She  took  me  off  after  a  time  to  see  the 
new  studio,  and  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  tell  her 
what  I  thought. 

"It's  absurd,"  I  said.  "Do  you  expect  to  break 
down  iron  bars  by  banging  a  head  against  them?" 

"It's  my  head,"  she  said  sulkily. 

"Not  at  all.    It's  Vivian's.    They  will  jail  him." 

"I  didn't  make  the  law." 

"Like  the  man  with  the  Ten  Commandments  at 
Guildford !"  I  retorted.  "He  didn't  make  them,  but 
you  know  where  he  said  he'd  go  if  he  broke  them. 
By  the  way,  Poppy,  I've  always  meant  to  ask  you, 
did  you  ever  get  a  retort  ready  in  case  the  T.  C. 
came  up  again*?" 

But  the  men  came  in  just  then,  and  I  did  not 
learn.  It  was  rather  a  ghastly  evening.  We  were 
all  most  polite  and  formal  and  Basil  took  me  home. 
I  tolo!  him  about  my  house  at  home  in  the  United 
States,  and  the  way  I'd  been  treated,  and  having 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER   265 

nothing  at  the  end  of  a  year  but  plumber's  bills  and 
tax  receipts. 

"I'm  glad  you  haven't  any  particular  income,"  he 
said  at  last.  "That's  one  element  of  discord  re 
moved." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Yes,  you  do,"  he  said  calmly.  "You  know  ex 
actly  what  I  mean,  and  what  I  hope  and  what  I  feel. 
I  don't  dare  to  say  it,  because  if  I  start  I'll — Madge, 
I  shall  not  propose  to  you  until  my  Uncle  Egbert 
dies.  I  don't  want  you  until  I  can  support  you 
comfortably — that's  a  lie.  I  want  you  damnably, 
all  the  time." 

I  do  not  remember  that  we  said  anything  more 
until  we  reached  Daphne's.  Then,  as  he  helped  me 
out,  I  said: 

"How  old  is  Uncle  Egbert?" 

"Eighty-six,"  he  replied  grimly,  and  went  away 
without  shaking  hands. 

Well,  to  go  back  to  Poppy,  for  of  course  it  is  her 
story  I  am  telling,  not  mine.  Mother  came  over 
soon  after  that  and  I  went  with  her  to  Mentone  for 
two  months.  Then  she  went  back  to  America  from 
Genoa,  and  I  went  back  to  London.  Mother  is  the 
sweetest  person  in  the  world,  and  I  adore  her,  but  she 
represents  the  old-fashioned  woman,  and  of  course 
I  stand  for  the  advanced.  For  instance,  she  was 
much  more  interested  in  Basil  Ward  than  in  the 


266 AFFINITIES 

Cause,  and  she  absolutely  disapproved  of  Poppy's 
stand  about  the  income  tax. 

"I  don't  care  to  discuss  the  Cause,"  she  said  to 
me.  "We  have  trouble  enough  now  with  only  the 
men  voting.  Why  should  we  double  our  anxieties?" 

"That's  silly,  mother,"  I  retorted.  "Because  one 
baby  is  a  trouble  and  naughty  sometimes,  should  one 
have  only  one  child?" 

Basil  met  me  at  Charing  Cross,  and  I  knew  there 
was  something  up  by  the  very  way  his  stick  hung 
to  his  arm. 

"How's  everything?"  I  asked,  when  he  had  called 
a  cab  and  settled  me  in  it.  "How  nice  and  sooty  it 
is,  after  the  Riviera!" 

"Filthy  hole!"  said  Basil  grumpily.  "Haven't  had 
a  decent  day  since  you  left." 

(This  was  remarkable,  because  the  papers  had  all 
said  the  weather  in  London  was  wonderful  for  that 
time  of  year.) 

"And  Poppy?" 

"Poppy's  a  fool,"  Basil  broke  out.  'Tm  glad 
you're  back,  Madge.  Maybe  you  can  do  something 
with  her." 

But  he  refused  to  tell  me  anything  further.  He 
asked  if  I  would  mind  going  directly  to  Lancaster 
Gate,  and  sat  back  in  a  corner  eyeing  me  most  of 
the  way. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  267 

"You  make  me  nervous,"  I  said  at  last.  "If  you 
can't  look  at  me  pleasantly,  why  look  at  all?" 

"I  can't  help  looking  at  you,  and  I'm  blessed  if  I 
can  look  pleasant.  Madge,  just  how  much  is  your 
heart  and  soul  in  the — er — Cause?" 

Well,  I  was  pretty  tired  of  being  questioned  all 
the  time.  I  said: 

"There  isn't  any  sacrifice  I  wouldn't  make  for  it." 

"If  you  were  married " 

"I  wouldn't  marry  a  man  who  didn't  think  as  I 
do." 

He  seemed  to  drop  back  further  into  his  corner. 

The  whole  thing  puzzled  me.  For  Basil  said  noth 
ing,  but  looked  dejected  and  beaten,  somehow.  And 
yet  he  had  always  believed  that  women  should  vote. 

We  found  Poppy  in  her  studio,  but  Viv's  work 
room  below  was  empty  and  the  door  into  the  passage 
stood  open.  His  desk  was  orderly  and  his  pens  in 
a  row.  It  looked  queer.  Poppy  was  painting,  stand 
ing  before  a  huge  canvas  and  looking  very  smeary; 
she  gave  me  a  cheek  to  kiss,  and  she  was  thin !  Posi 
tively  thin ! 

"You're  looking  very  fit,  Maggie,"  she  said,  with 
out  a  smile.  "We've  missed  her,  haven't  we,  Basil?" 

Basil  grunted  something.  Suddenly  it  occurred 
to  me  that  he  and  Poppy  hardly  glanced  at  one  an 
other,  and  that  he  was  still  holding  his  hat  and 
gloves.  Their  constraint,  and  Viv  not  around  and 


268  AFFINITIES 

everything — I  was  very  uncomfortable.  Of  course, 
if  Basil  cared  for  Poppy  and  I  used  to  think  he  did, 
and  if  Vivian  had  found  it  out — 

"No,  thanks,  Poppy,"  said  Basil,  "I'll— I'll  drop 
in  again." 

"Crumpets  for  tea !"  said  Poppy.  They'd  engaged 
the  cook  for  her  crumpets. 

"Thanks  awfully,"  Basil  muttered  and  having 
said  something  about  seeing  me  again  very  soon,  he 
got  out.  I  stared  after  him.  Could  this  be  Basil 
the  arrogant1?  Basil  the  abject?  This  brooding 
individual  who  did  nothing  but  stare  at  me  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  work  something  out! 

Poppy  came  over  to  me,  with  her  fists  in  the 
pockets  of  her  painting  apron,  and  looked  down  at 
me. 

"Frightened,  like  all  the  rest!"  she  said.  "They 
say  I'm  responsible  for  hundreds  of  broken  engage 
ments!  They  made  the  law  themselves,  and  now, 
when  they  see  it  in  operation,  they  squeal." 

It  came  over  me  then ;  Poppy's  strained  eyes,  and 
her  painting  without  a  cigarette,  and  Basil  looking 
so  queer. 

"Then  Viv " 

"Viv  is  in  jail,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "Men  made 
the  law,  of  course,  but  I  wish  you'd  hear  them! 
The  Husband's  Liability  Act,  child.  A  married 
woman's  husband  is  responsible  for  her  debts.  I  re- 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  269 

fused  to  pay  my  income  tax  as  taxation  without  rep 
resentation.  Viv  got  stubborn,  and  said  he  wouldn't. 
Result,  the  entire  male  population  screaming  for 
help,  engaged  men  breaking  with  Suffragist  fiancees, 
the  population  prospects  of  the  country  poor,  and — 
Viv  in  jail!" 

I  could  hardly  speak  for  a  minute. 

"That — that's  what  is  wrong  with  Basil?" 

"Of  course  I'm  sorry,  Maggie.  You  see,  you  have 
an  income  of  your  own  and  at  any  moment,  by  re 
fusing  to  pay  the  tax  on  it,  you  can  send  Basil  to 
jail." 

"If  he  were  any  sort  of  a  husband,"  I  said  furi 
ously,  "he  could  pay  the  tax  and  save  all  the 
trouble." 

"Not  at  all.  The  men  have  banded  together. 
They  call  it  the  Husband's  Defence!  They  take 
turns  at  visiting  Viv,  and  sending  him  books  and 
things.  It's — it's  maddening." 

Poppy  asked  me  to  stay  with  her.  She  was  really 
in  a  bad  way.  She  wasn't  eating  or  sleeping,  and 
that  very  night  a  crowd  of  men  gathered  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  hissed  and  called  her  things.  One  of 
them  made  a  speech.  We  listened  from  behind  the 
curtains.  He  said  his  wife  was  holding  out  her 
taxes  on  him  and  he  expected  to  "go  up"  the  next 
day.  Poppy  went  out  on  the  balcony  and  tried  to 
tell  them  why  she  had  done  it,  and  that  it  was  a 


270 AFFINITIES 

matter  of  principle,  and  all  that.  But  they  would 
not  listen,  and  only  jeered.  She  came  back  into  the 
drawing  room  quite  beaten,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

It  was  the  next  evening  that  Basil  told  us  that 
Vivian,  feeling  as  he  did  that  he  represented  the 
married  men  of  the  Kingdom  and  that  he  stood  for 
principle  also,  had  gone  on  a  hunger  strike! 

•  *  •  •  •  •  • 

After  all,  it  was  Daphne,  who  came  to  the  rescue. 
She  came  over  to  luncheon  the  day  after  and  found 
Poppy  in  bed  with  cold  cloths  on  her  head,  and  her 
wedding  ring  off.  Daphne  sniffed. 

"You  and  Viv  are  two  children,"  she  said.  "You're 
a  silly  for  thinking  you  can  beat  the  government  at 
its  own  game,  which  is  taxation,  and  Viv's  a  fool 
for  letting  you  be  one." 

Poppy  is  not  placid  of  disposition,  and  she  flung 
the  cold  cloths  at  Daphne  and  ordered  her  out.  But 
Daphne  only  wrung  out  the  cloths  and  hung  them 
up,  and  raised  the  shades. 

"You  haven't  got  a  headache;  700  have  a  pain  in 
your  disposition,"  she  said.  "Put  this  on  again." 

And  Poppy  put  on  her  wedding  ring. 

"Now,"  said  Daphne.  "You  won't  pay  this 
money  as  a  matter  of  principle,  and  Viv  won't,  for 
the  same  reason.  I  won't  because  I  haven't  got  it: 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  271 

Madge  probably  ditto.  But  it  must  be  paid.  Have 
you  got  it  in  the  house?" 

Poppy  nodded. 

"In  notes?' 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"In  my  jewel  case." 

"Very  well.  Now,"  said  Daphne,  "Madge  and  I 
are  going  to  fix  this  thing  up.  You  are  not  to  know 
anything  about  it.  You  can  swear  to  that  later  on, 
if  the  question  comes  up.  Is  there  any  place  in 
your  studio  where  you  keep  money?" 

"In  the  table  drawer." 

"Very  well.  Tonight  before  you  go  to  bed  put 
that  money  there.  Early  tomorrow  morning  send  a 
maid  to  the  drawer.  If,  by  any  chance,  it  is  not 
there,  send  for  the  police." 

Poppy  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  her  eyes  narrowed. 

"The  door  of  that  wing  is  always  locked.  Viv 
has  one  key;  I  have  the  other." 

"Never  mind  about  the  keys,"  said  Daphne, 
loftily.  "Now  lie  back  and  take  a  nap.  Madge 
and  I  are  going  to  look  at  the  new  picture.  And  I'm 
taking  Madge  home  to  dinner.  I  want  her  to  go 
with  me  to  the  Edgware  Road  meeting  tonight." 

We  did  not  look  at  the  picture  very  long. 
Daphne's  lips  were  shut  tight,  and  I  was  feeling  very 
queer.  I  knew  what  Daphne  meant  to  do — to  have 


272 AFFINITIES 

the  exact  amount  of  Poppy's  tax  stolen  from  the 
table,  and  reported  to  the  police.  And  later  on  in 
the  day  to  have  it  sent  to  the  tax  office  in  Poppy's 
name.  Poppy  could  swear  she  had  not  done  it  and 
point  to  the  robbery.  But  by  that  time  it  would  be 
credited  to  her  name,  and  Viv  would  be  free. 

"It's  a  knot,"  said  Daphne,  running  her  fingers 
through  her  hair.  "It's  past  un- tying.  We  have  to 
cut  it." 

I  know  it  sounds  silly  now  and  father  has  advised 
me  never  to  tell  mother,  but  it  seemed  the  only  thing 
at  the  time.  Here  were  Viv  and  Poppy  at  an  impasse, 
as  one  may  say,  and  things  getting  worse  every  day — 
Viv  on  a  hunger  strike,  and  Poppy's  work  waiting, 
and  the  vote,  which  was  our  natural  solution,  as  far 
off  as  ever. 

"I'll  unlock  a  window  in  Viv's  study,"  said 
Daphne,  "and  you  can  come  back  after  midnight 
and  crawl  in.  I'd  do  it,  but  I'm  too  fat.  Once  in, 
you've  only  to  go  up  the  little  staircase  to  the  studio, 
and  get  the  money.  The  key's  always  in  the  side 
door.  You  can  let  yourself  out." 

"But  I  don't  like  it,  Daphne." 

"A  broken  window,"  said  Daphne,  "would  look 
a  lot  better.  More  natural,  you  know.  Here,  hold 
a  pillow." 

She  raised  one  of  Viv's  windows  a  little — we  were 
in  his  study — and  she  put  her  arm  outside,  with  a 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  273 

paper  weight  in  her  hand.  A  smart  tap,  and  a  pane 
fell  in  on  my  pillow.  We  listened  but  no  servants 
had  come  running  and  the  house  next  door  was  closed 
and  shuttered. 

Daphne  is  very  clever.  She  unlocked  the  window, 
drew  the  shade  as  it  had  been  before,  and  put  the 
glass  in  a  little  heap  on  the  floor.  The  area  was 
outside,  about  five  feet  below. 

"I  could  never  do  it,"  I  protested.  "I — I  haven't 
your  courage,  Daffie.  Be  a  dear  and  do  it  yourself." 

"Have  to  be  at  Edgware  Road,"  said  Daphne. 
"After  all,  Poppy's  your  friend.  You  made  the 
match,  didn't  you?" 

"But  if  I'm  arrested " 

"You  won't  be.  Jane  Willoughby  is  going  with 
me  tonight.  I'll  lend  her  some  of  your  clothes  and 
a  veil.  She  can  make  a  speech  in  your  name.  There's 
an  alibi  for  you !" 

Now  it  sounded  all  right  at  the  time,  but  looking 
back,  it  seems  queer.  For  of  what  use  is  an  alibi 
if  the  police  have  you?  But  one  thing  I  would  not 
do.  I  would  not  climb  in  the  window.  Daphne 
finally  put  me  behind  one  of  Poppy's  canvases  in 
the  studio  on  a  chair. 

"They'll  think  you  broke  in,  which  answers  as 
well,"  she  said.  "And  you  can  get  the  money  and 
let  yourself  out  the  side  door  without  any  trouble." 

"I  sha'n't  have  any  dinner,"  I  reminded  her.  But 


274 AFFINITIES 

she  said  she'd  have  something  ready  for  me  at  home 
after  I'd  committed  my  crime,  and  went  down  the 
staircase  whistling. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  awful  night.  I  was  most 
uncomfortable.  There  was  a  chance  that  the  ser 
vants,  locking  up,  would  go  into  Viv's  study  and 
find  the  glass,  although  it  was  behind  the  curtain. 
But  I'd  seen  Peters  lock  up  before.  He  stood  in  a 
doorway  and  looked  at  each  window,  and  if  the  cur 
tains  did  not  blow  the  house  was  safe.  Luckily 
there  was  no  wind  that  evening! 

But  I  hated  the  whole  thing.  It  got  darker  and 
barker  and  things  scrambled  in  the  walls.  Poppy 
brought  the  money  and  put  it  in  a  drawer  but  of 
course  I  did  not  speak  to  her.  She  had  to  be  able 
to  swear  she  knew  nothing.  She  kissed  Viv's  picture 
which  she  had  painted,  and  trotted  out  again,  sighing. 
Peters  did  not  discover  the  broken  window  in  the 
den  below,  because  he  never  even  went  to  look.  And 
I  felt  very  dreary,  with  no  one  really  caring  for  me, 
and  so  far  from  America,  and  men — like  Basil,  for 
instance — acting  so  strange  and  uneasy. 

Of  course  I  could  have  taken  the  money  and  gone, 
as  soon  as  it  was  dark.  But  a  policeman  took  up  a 
position  outside  the  area  door,  and  waited  for  some 
body.  He  and  Peters  had  a  few  words  about  Poppy's 
maid,  and  the  policeman  said  he  would  see  her  if  he 
had  to  stay  there  all  night.  He  stayed  for  hours. 


I  got  the  money  and  put  it  in  my  handbag,  and 
because  I  did  not  wish  to  get  it  mixed  with  my  own, 
I  put  it  by  itself  in  one  of  the  pockets.  Then  I 
think  I  dozed  for  two  or  three  hours,  for  when 
waking  the  street  was  quiet  and  the  policeman  had 
gone  away.  I  was  stiff,  tired,  and  out  of  humor, 
and  I  started  down  the  little  staircase  past  Viv's 
study  to  the  area  door.  As  I  reached  the  bottom, 
somebody  tried  the  lock  outside.  I  nearly  fainted. 
I  turned  and  ran  up  in  the  dark,  and  the  door  below 
opened.  A  man  came  in  stealthily  and  went  directly 
to  Vivian's  den.  And  just  then  a  church  clock  struck 
two. 

I  was  frightened.  It  seemed  to  me  that  as  soon  as 
he  ransacked  the  room  below,  he'd  come  up  to  the 
studio.  Perhaps  he  knew  about  the  money.  Bur 
glars  seem  to  be  able  to  smell  money.  And  the 
idea  of  being  caught  in  the  studio,  as  in  a  cul  de 
sac,  made  me  panicky.  I  clutched  my  bag,  and 
slipped  down  the  staircase,  past  Vivian's  door.  The 
burglar  was  there,  going  through  Viv's  desk,  with 
a  light  turned  on  and  a  cap  down  over  his  eyes. 

I  forgot  to  be  cautious  then.  I  bolted  for  the  door, 
flung  it  open — it  was  a  patent  lock,  with  a  knob 
inside — and  stepped  out  into  the  night  air  and  the 
policeman's  arms. 

"Easy  a  bit,  hold  girl !"  he  said.  "Hi'm  'ere  and 
you're  'ere.  What's  the  'urry?"  He  held  me  off 


276 AFFINITIES 

and  looked  at  me.  Luckily  I'd  never  seen  him  be 
fore.  "Quick  with  your  'ands,  ain't  you!  In  you 
goes  and  in  five  minutes  out  you  pops !" 

"If  you  think  I'm  a  burglar,"  I  said  haughtily, 

"I'm  nothing  of  the  sort.  I'm "  It  came  over 

me,  all  at  once,  that  I'd  better  not  say  I  was  a  friend 
of  Poppy's.  You  see  she  was  being  watched  very 
closely.  If  I  was  searched,  and  the  exact  amount 
of  her  income  tax  in  my  pocket,  it  would  look  very 
queer,  and  the  whole  thing  would  be  out,  of  course. 
"The  burglar  you  followed  is  still  in  the  house,"  I 
said.  "He's  in  Mr. — in  the  study,  just  beyond 
that  door." 

"None  of  that,  young  woman,"  he  said,  sternly. 
"You'll  just  come  along  with  me!  'Ouse-breaking 
it  is;  I  watched  you  in  and  I  watched  you  hout." 

He  took  me  by  the  arm,  and  I  went  along.  There 
was  nothing  else  to  do.  I  tried  to  drop  my  hand 
bag  as  we  went,  but  he  heard  it  and  picked  it  up.  I 
was  rather  dazed.  The  only  thing  I  could  think  of 
was  that  for  the  sake  of  the  Cause  and  Poppy  I  must 
not  tell  who  I  was.  But  I  begged  him  to  send 
an  officer  to  Poppy's  house,  because  there  was  a  bur 
glar  in  it,  probably  after  the  idea  of  Vivian's  new 
novel. 

At  the  police  station  they  telephoned  Poppy,  and 
here  she  made  her  terrible  mistake.  She  said  after 
wards  that  if  Daphne  had  only  explained  she'd  have 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER  277 

known.  But  she  thought  it  was  all  a  part  of  the 
plot,  and  she  went  back  to  her  studio  and  said  she'd 
lost  the  money  out  of  a  table  drawer.  She  told  how 
it  was,  in  notes  and  gold,  and,  of  course,  they  found 
the  exact  amount  in  my  bag.  She  says  that  when 
they  told  her  they  had  it  and  a  young  woman  too, 
she  almost  swooned.  She  tried  to  find  Basil,  but 
he  was  not  in  his  rooms  and  Daphne  had  been  ar 
rested  at  Edgware  Road  and  was  incommunicado  I 

Poppy's  position  was  pitiable.  She  didn't  know 
what  to  do.  If  she  declared  the  plot  and  freed  me,, 
all  London  would  laugh,  and  the  Cause  would  suffer. 
If  she  did  not  declare  the  plot,  I  would  get  a  prison 
sentence.  I  have  drawn  a  poor  picture  of  Poppy  if 
you  think  I  stood  a  chance  against  The  Cause. 

That  is  how  things  stood  the  next  morning; 
Daphne,  Vivian  and  I  in  jail,  and  Poppy  in  hys 
terics.  Then  a  curious  thing  happened.  The  even 
ing  papers  announced  that  Vivian  had  paid  the 
tax  for  Poppy  and  was  free.  Viv  repudiated  the 
payment — said  he  had  not  done  it,  and  refused  his 
liberty. 

"Mr.  Harcourt,"  said  one  paper,  "is  quite  thin 
and  shows  the  strain  of  his  confinement.  He  is  ap 
parently  cheerful,  but  very  feeble,  supporting  him 
self  by  the  back  of  a  chair  while  he  stood.  His  eyes 
flashed,  however,  as  he  stated  that  the  Income  Tax 
office  could  not  legally  accept  the  payment,  as  it 


278 AFFINITIES 

was  not  his  money.  If  any  of  his  supporters  had, 
in  mistaken  zeal,  taken  a  collection  for  this  pur 
pose,  he  could  only  regret  their  action  and  refuse  to 
profit  by  it." 

At  this  time  I  had  refused  to  talk  and  Poppy  was 
in  bed. 

But  on  the  next  day  the  Times  published  a  letter, 
signed  "Only  a  Man"  which  stirred  the  whole  thing 
up  again.  The  writer  declared  that  the  tax  had 
been  paid  with  Vivian's  own  money,  that  the  writer 
himself  had  stolen  it  out  of  a  desk  in  Mr.  Harcourt's 
house,  that  it  had  been  sent  by  messenger  to  the 
proper  authorities,  and  a  receipt  issued,  which  was 
appended.  And  that,  in  other  words,  while  Mr. 
Harcourt  was  to  be  lauded  for  his  principles,  his 
refusal  to  accept  his  liberty  was  now  absurd.  Also, 
the  writer  was  under  the  impression  that  an  innocent 
person  was  being  held  for  his  crime. 

This  story  being  investigated  by  the  authorities 
and  Poppy's  recovering  enough  to  come  down  and 
identify  me,  furiously  indignant  at  my  detention  and 
outraged  that  I  had  not  told  my  name  and  how  I 
came  to  be  leaving  her  house  at  that  hour,  which 
she  said  was  because  we  had  had  a  long  talk  about 
the  next  campaign,  I  was  freed  at  last.  It  leaked 
out  like  this: 

(a)     Viv  was  free  with  no  loss  of  principle. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GANDER   279 

(b)  Poppy's  tax  was  paid,  with  no  loss  of  prin 
ciple. 

(c)  "A  Mere  Man"  was  not  apprehended. 

(d)  Basil  reappeared,  after  a  heavy  cold. 

I  was  not  present  when  Viv  and  Poppy  met,  ow 
ing  to  some  formalities  of  my  release.  I  drove  to 
the  house  with  Poppy's  money  in  my  bag,  and  went 
up  unannounced.  Viv  was  not  pale  and  wan.  He 
looked  rested  and  fit,  and  Poppy  was  on  his  knee. 
When  I  went  in  she  moved  to  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
but  no  further,  and  she  kept  her  profile  toward  him. 

They  were  very  apologetic  and  said  how  sorry  they 
were,  and  Poppy  said  she  knew  Daphne  and  I  meant 
well,  but  that  one  wrong  would  never  help  another. 
I  was  speechless  with  rage,  and  I  took  from  my  bag 
her  money  and  held  it  out  to  her. 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "Vivian  has  no  idea  of  who 
'A  Mere  Man'  is?" 

"None  whatever,"  said  Viv  shamelessly. 

"That's  curious,"  I  observed.  "I  saw  him  quite 
distinctly,  you  know,  as  I  went  down  the  stairs." 

(I  had — his  back!) 

I  went  out,  with  my  head  up.  They  called  to  me, 
and  I  think  Vivian  started  to  follow.  But  I  got 
into  a  taxicab  and  drove  to  Daphne's.  I  was  very 
depressed. 

Basil  came  to  see  me  that  night.  Daphne  was 
still  in  jail,  and  very  comfortable.  She  sent  me 


280 AFFINITIES 

word  not  to  worry,  as  she  was  getting  new  material 
for  speeches,  and  had  two  ready. 

I  refused  to  see  Basil,  but  he  followed  the  maid 
back,  and  stood  looking  down  at  me. 

"Viv  says  you  saw  me,"  he  began  without  any 
preamble. 

"I  did,  but  I  didn't  recognise  you.  You've  com 
mitted  yourself." 

He  changed  colour. 

"What  else  was  there  to  do?"  he  demanded. 
"Those  two  geese  would  have  gone  on  forever.  Viv 
had  the  momey  in  his  desk,  but  it  was  my  plan, 
not  his." 

As  it  happened,  I  had  sent  father  a  cablegram 
about  Viv  and  Poppy  just  before  I  was  arrested, 
and  now  I  saw  his  reply  on  the  mantel. 

"Sauce  for  the  goose  is  sauce  for  the  gander,"  he 
had  cabled.  Well,  I  had  had  the  jail,  and  Basil  had 
had — a  cold !  Basil  followed  my  eyes. 

"More  cablegrams!"  he  said.  Why  doesn't  that 
chap  come  over  and  get  you?" 

"Because  I  am  going  back  to  him.  I  can't  stand 
the  pressure,  Basil.  Viv  and  Poppy  are  all  right 
for  this  year,  but  how  about  next?  Is  it  to  be  the 
same  thing  again?" 

"They're  going  to  Italy  to  live/' 

"A  compromise?"  I  quoted,  rather  bitterly.  "  'Not 


281 


victory  but  a  truce.'  You  and  I  made  that  marriage. 
It  was  the  T.  C.  that  did  it." 

Basil  took  the  cablegram  from  the  mantel  and 
deliberately  read  it.  When  he  got  to  the  signature 
he  drew  a  long  breath  and  then  he  grinned. 

"So  that's  that!"  he  said.  "Well,  Maggie,  are 
you  going  back  to  father,  or — staying  here  with 
me?" 

"You're  afraid  of  me." 

"I'll  take  the  risk,  Madge.  I  didn't  tell  you, 
Uncle  Egbert  died  while  you  were  away." 

"I've  been  in  jail  for  stealing,"  I  quavered.  "And 
I'd  do  it  again,  Basil,  for  the  Cause." 

"Bless  the  Cause,"  said  Basil  manfully.  "Why 
shouldn't  you  rote,  if  you  want  to?  Aren't  you  clev 
erer,  and  lovelier,  and  more  courageous  than  any 
man  that  ever  lived?  Anyhow,  you're  right.  Things 
are  rotten.  What  sane  government  would  lock  a 
man  up  because  his  wife  refuses  to  pay  her  taxes'?" 

I  lifted  my  head  from  his  shoulder. 

"That  wretched  house  at  home "  I  began. 

But  he  was  quite  cheerful. 

"We'll  sell  it,"  he  said,  "and  you  shall  spend  the 
money  for  pretties  to  wear,  that  don't  pay  a  tax." 

It  was  compromise  again.  I  knew  it,  but  I  yielded. 
After  a  time  I  said : 

"Basil,  what  was  the  retort  you  gave  Poppy  about 
theT.  C.r 


282 AFFINITIES 

"Nothing  much,"  he  replied  complacently,  "I  told 
her,  if  any  one  sprung  it  at  her  again,  to  say  that  if 
men  had  made  the  Ten  Commandments,  they'd  hare 
added  an  eleventh  amendment  long  ago,  or  else  have 
annulled  them." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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